


Swing Of The Clock

by Krasimer



Series: Falling Off An Edge (Looking As You Leap) [5]
Category: LazyTown
Genre: Backstory, Confusing, Explanations to come, F/M, Fae Robbie Rotten, Glanni is unhappy, I'll explain as it goes, M/M, Meant To Be, Sportacus (LazyTown) Has a Different Name, Things just got complicated, Time Loop, Time Skips, Unreliable Narrator, Weirdness, Íþróttaálfurinn & Sportacus (LazyTown) Are Related, Íþróttaálfurinn is worried
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-11-01 09:37:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10919184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krasimer/pseuds/Krasimer
Summary: “You know that the Unseelie Court has sent an envoy to Lazytown,” Aðalbjörg spoke up this time, her hands clasped behind her back. On her shoulder was a shimmering number eight that Robbie had somehow missed earlier. Íþróttaálfurinn had a number one on his chest, newer than the material surrounding it. “And I suspect that you have been too…Close to the source of the problem to realize that something was wrong.”“And our son,” Íþróttaálfurinn glanced at Sportacus, his mustache twitching with the same worry that darkened his eyes. “Has been in the town for too long. It has already harmed him. We have our suspicions, but there is something we need to know.”“Need to know what?” Robbie frowned, looking at both of them, shifting his gaze from one to the other.“What…” Aðalbjörg started, then stopped, looking nervous. She swallowed, seemed to be trying to hold back panic, then nodded and tried again. “What year is it?”Robbie snorted, rolling his eyes. “It’s…”He stopped.He should know this. He had a calendar in his lair. On the wall, above one of his machines. He had looked at it not even a full twenty-four hours ago.





	1. Tread Upon The Desecrated Ground

“What you want,” a voice came from the darkness. “Is a story where the heroes win.”

Sportacus swallowed nervously, tightening his hold on Robbie. The man was unconscious, his body limp, and the dark circles under his eyes were worse than usual. “I want a story where he is happy,” he said quietly. “The Courts are not the right place for him, not right now, not like this. You are angry, this I know,” his eyes were filling with tears, his arms shaking from how carefully he was holding his boyfriend. “But this can’t be how you bring him into his heritage.”

“We were told he was ours,” the voice hissed. “Ours and ours, away with us he’s going. The Solemn-Eyed. _Ours_.”

“I know,” Sportacus swallowed again, fighting against the nervous tidal wave rising in his chest.

“You are not one of ours,” the voice was joined by a second one, a third, and they spoke in perfect synch as eyes glowed from the darkness of the back of the copse of trees. “He has been in your world long enough, he is ours, raised too close to humans. They break and they burn, destroy what does not need destruction.”

Robbie shifted, his face pinching in discomfort.

“They didn’t destroy him,” Sportacus argued softly, switching positions so that his arms were around Robbie entirely, a small defiance against the creatures before them. “And I…He is also mine,” his voice was even quieter than before. 

They shifted in the dark, claws coming into the small slashes of sunlight on the ground. They reflected the light back almost like a mirror would. “Told was ours, the heir to our current.” Something screeched behind them, like metal on metal, but they didn’t turn to look. “Ours ours ours, our child, our lost one. _Einar Glæpur,_ ” the words shifted to a language Sportacus knew, had to translate his thoughts through before they became words. “Ran away from home, lost track of.”

“Please…” Sportacus put his chin into the curve of Robbie’s shoulder. “Please don’t take him.”

 

**Earlier**

 

“There’s something wrong in Lazytown,” Íþróttaálfurinn started when he had Glanni back at his balloon. 

The fae sneered at him, smoothing a hand down the front of his jacket. Even after literal decades, he still wore the eye-burning pink of his past. Íþróttaálfurinn had been able to spot him from miles above the small town. Their respective family members had needed time to be alone together, Íþróttaálfurinn had decided as he’d dragged the older fae away. Glanni and he had things to speak about at any rate, even if his son and Glanni’s grandson had wanted them around for a little bit longer.

Glanni glared at him. “It’s called Lazytown now, of course there’s something wrong with it.”

“Names change with time, Glanni,” Íþróttaálfurinn raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Not like that,” Glanni sneered back. 

“ _Rikki Riki,_ ” Íþróttaálfurinn said in a mocking tone, barely holding back a smile. 

“That is different and you know it. That was a disguise,” Glanni mirrored his pose, his spine curling, and his thin body still too thin for Íþróttaálfurinn’s comfort and peace of mind. “But Latibær to Lazytown? I mean, I give the kid definite congratulations. He doesn’t do hiding in half-measures. Found my old scheme locations and used my name to hide in them.”

“The transition to English,” Íþróttaálfurinn began, shrugging slowly. “I suppose it must have been easier. Robbie is not an exact translation of Glanni, but it is close enough that, when you’ve been away for as long as you have, they don’t recognize him as you but the name rings as yours when you hear it.”

“Lazytown,” Glanni sighed, swiping a hand through the air, raising an eyebrow when Íþróttaálfurinn watched it warily. “I’m not going to cast any sort of spell on you, _dear Íþró._ It would be in my best interest to keep my hands to myself here. Bury whatever memories we share and make up with you for the sake of your kid and my grandson. But this town,” he took a deep breath, letting his eyes close for a moment. “ _This town._ Something is desperately _wrong_ here and you and your numbered others should be aware of it.”

“We are aware of it,” Íþróttaálfurinn frowned, his entire body going stiff as he studied Glanni’s face. “Our memories were somewhat good,” he said softly. “Before…Before.”

“…I don’t want to talk about it,” Glanni’s voice was nearly too quiet to hear and it made Íþróttaálfurinn wince. “I’ve done a great many things to upset people and that is one of them and I need to figure out how to get my grandson to believe that my intentions here are honorable. The rules of the court are clear, my heir needs to be in attendance.”

“You’ve put too much stress on yourself,” Íþróttaálfurinn was studying him again, reaching out to put a hand on Glanni’s jaw.

The fae practically threw himself backward to avoid the elf’s touch. “Don’t!” he snarled. He took a deep breath, his eyes glimmering with several colors. “You have a wife, a son, I had a daughter AND I have a grandson. We grew older, got our own bloodline continuations. Yours and mine aren’t intertwined, you don’t need to _worry about me._ Do your job, I’ll do mine.” He moved to the edge of the basket, one hand curled tightly around the finely woven lip. “My job, currently, is to go convince the Courts to allow Einar some more time with your son before he is demanded into appearing within them.”

Glanni snapped his fingers, a cloud of pink scattering through the air as he disappeared. 

Íþróttaálfurinn was left alone in his balloon’s basket.

“I always need to worry about you,” he said quietly, still staring at the last spot Glanni had been standing in. “I love her but I also still love you.”

 

**Later**

 

Sportacus ducked his face against Robbie’s neck, feeling the shadows of the encroaching Unseelie. 

This was it, wasn’t it? They were going to kill him and separate him from his boyfriend. Robbie would stop being Robbie, they would only ever refer to him as the name he had been born with. True names were rare in the Courts, but any of the Nobility were given two names when they were born. Einar was his public name, he would be held in a room, alone, and he would give in to the misery in his head.

They would break him.

The shrieking shadows moved to engulf them, a wave of darkness ready to swallow them whole. Robbie – Einar – would be spared in his unconsciousness. “I would ask a small favor,” Sportacus managed to get the words out, lifting his face from Einar’s shoulder just enough to speak. “Kill me quickly. Before he wakes up.”

He thought he heard an agreeing whisper coming from the darkness.

Closing his eyes, Sportacus tightened his hold on Einar, his thoughts racing. His crystal was screaming, sending images of the dangers around him, the death swiftly arriving for him, and he smiled. “And keep him safe.”

Death was a large demand, they could afford the price he was asking of them.

An echo of his own crystal was all the warning he got before a billowing storm of sunlight swirled around them, blocking out the shadows. It touched his skin and he knew who it was before he even opened his eyes.

Sportacus was still holding tightly to Einar, his heart beating marathon-quick, but he was grinning when he looked up. “ _Mamma!_ ” 

“ _Hallo Lítillblá,_ ” came the melodic voice of his mother. Her quarterstaff was held in her tightly clenched fists, her knuckles white as she stood between her son and the Unseelie attackers. “I will speak with you in a moment,” her magic drifted back towards him, running a soothing feeling over the top of his head. Sportacus wanted to lean into it, drag Einar into the warmth of it with him and keep the fae safe. 

His mother, with her color scheme of brown and greens, felt like the safety of the earth and the scent of new growth.

It took him a moment, brain chugging along slowly, but he remembered the necklace Einar wore, the charm tucked into the base of the cradle of his crystal. His mother must have spelled them to act as locators, quick-witted enough to know that they would need help, whatever the threat was.

With someone else in the fight, Sportacus felt his mind easing into unconsciousness and he let himself go.

Off in the distance, he could hear a third crystal, which meant that both of his parents were within reach. It was safe, for once, to let someone else fight the fight and let himself rest.

 

xXx

 

Robbie woke up slowly, feeling like every part of his body had been trampled on by something with large hooves.

His eyes were even slower to open. If it was possible for someone to have glued them shut, then he was convinced that had occurred. The air around him was quiet and he moved to sit up, still rubbing at his face.

A gentle hand on his shoulder pushed him back down, a soothing hum finally reaching his ears. “Shh shh,” they muttered, melodic and soothing and everything he remembered from when he was a child. From the times marked, ‘Before’ in his mind, when Glanni hadn’t yet started taking his anger and frustration out on him. “It is not time yet, stay down. We will make sure you are safe.”

Robbie nodded, letting himself be pushed, until something else occurred to him.

He threw himself back up, his eyes wrenching open with an almost monumental effort as he looked around wildly. “Where is Sportacus?” he demanded as he searched the immediate area for his boyfriend. 

“Sportacus?” the woman at the side of the bed he was on looked back at him, her green eyes sparkling in the light. 

“Yes, Sportacus.” Robbie held up a hand, a frown twisting his mouth. “About this tall, blue clothes, twitchy little mustache. Always flipping and flopping about like a madman. Sportacus.” He thought for a moment, then nodded, tapping at the center of his chest. “Wears a ten, right here.”

“Ah,” she laughed.

“What?”

“Oh,” the elven woman smiled and took off her hat. Her blonde curls were short and framing her face. “You are Einar.”

Robbie’s breath caught in his throat and he leaned away from her. “Where is he?” he asked again, his eyes wide. “None of this is making sense, we were in the forest and there was something dangerous and we shouldn’t have been there. My grandfather was in town, I don’t know if he still is or not.”

She laughed again, leaning over to the wall next to her and pressing a button. “Here,” she caught the container that dropped from seemingly nowhere and handed it to him. “You should eat this. It will help your strength return to you, young fae. It is probably nothing like what you are used to, but it will help. Not as processed as what fae eat when they live near humans, but,” she shrugged. “I will go find my son. He will help explain some things.”

Robbie nearly jumped out of his skin when she patted gently at the top of his head and stood up, walking out of the room.

The container in his hands was cold and smelled faintly of sweetness.

Curiosity got the best of him and he pried the lid off, surprised to find what looked to be ice cream. It was faintly purple, with streaks of pink running through it. When he found the spoon attached to the underside of the lid and tasted some carefully, he found it to be flavored with lavender and strawberries. It tasted like fresh cream, churned slowly into a heartier version of what he usually ate. 

She was right.

It wasn’t anything like what he ate, living in Lazytown. 

He had eaten a fourth of the container when she returned. Her steps were soft, almost silent on the floor beneath her, and she smiled when she saw him watching. Trailing behind her, looking exhausted and worried, was Sportacus.

The elf ducked around the mystery woman and ran to the edge of the bed, dropping onto it and pressing his forehead against Robbie’s. “You’re awake!” he said gleefully. “How are you feeling?”

“Confused,” Robbie shrugged, haphazardly snapping the lid back on the container of ice cream and setting it to the side. “Where are we right now?” he glanced towards the woman, frowning again. “And who is she?”

“Ah,” she put a hand over her mouth and for a moment he saw the same excitement in her eyes that Sportacus always seemed to have in his. “My apologies, I have forgotten to introduce myself. I am Aðalbjörg.” She reached forward, having finished the approach to the bed much slower than Sportacus, and ruffled the elf’s hair. “My son has told me many things about you.”

“Oh,” Robbie blinked a couple of times. “You’re his mother.”

“Yes.”

Swallowing nervously, Robbie looked to meet Sportacus’s gaze, raising an eyebrow when his boyfriend blushed bright red and ducked his head down. “Sportacus?”

“Thus the confusion,” Aðalbjörg’s voice was full of sly amusement. “My son’s name is hidden beneath layers. I was not aware of the English sound of it.” She ruffled the darker blond curls again, tugging gently. It seemed to be a form of mild reprimand. “In his letters, he has not mentioned it to me.”

“I forgot,” Sportacus said quietly, still wincing beneath his boyfriend’s gaze. “It has been long enough that revealing…The name I have used in my entire time of knowing you is a title, rather than a name.”

“Like how Robbie isn’t my name,” Robbie’s other eyebrow rose to join the first.

“Exactly.”

Aðalbjörg laughed again. “I must speak with your father.” She glanced out the window and Robbie followed her gaze, relieved to see that she had landed her ship, unlike what her son chose to do. “The both of you should stay here and rest. It has been a trying day and, I suspect, it will continue to be so. I have heard that Glanni found you.”

“He has,” Robbie grumbled. “He hurt Sportacus and he made the children sleep. No one was happy about it.”  
Sighing, Aðalbjörg nodded. “I will have to go in and double the protections I gave you. He should not have been able to find you in the first place, not unless you wanted him to.” She pointed at the container of ice cream. “You should finish that, perhaps share it with my son, and then the two of you should discuss things as well. Names are important.”

With that and a graceful jog out of the room, Aðalbjörg left them alone.

“So,” Robbie separated from Sportacus, grabbing the ice cream again. “Why is your name hidden under layers?”

“Because I,” Sportacus watched him lick the spoon clean, his cheeks flushing a ruddy sort of red that made Robbie smirk. “There is a certain habit I got into. With the children. I had always intended to use the same sort of title as my father. Íþróttaálfurinn. It means, ‘Sports Elf’. By the time you and I started speaking and I wanted to help you and you finally accepted my help and then I loved you…It had been an age. And you knew me as the title. So it felt like, possibly, you would reject me because I lied about my name.”

Robbie snorted, nearly choking on the spoon. “My name is _obviously_ Robbie Rotten. I mean, who ever heard of Einar Glæpur? Certainly no one in town. Not many outside of it, either.” He offered a spoonful of the ice cream to his boyfriend. “She said you could eat this?” he looked doubtful. “It’s ice cream, so I’m not sure, but I think your mother might be trying to get you to pass out.”

Sportacus took it, sniffed it carefully, then put it into his mouth. “The difference is refined sugar,” he smiled. “Honey is fine because it is a natural sweetener. Humans should limit their consumption, but it is less processed. Healthier option.”

“So the bag of white sugar in my kitchen is bad,” Robbie studied the ice cream’s surface. “But this is alright because it’s made with honey?” 

“And actual fruit, rather than the processed and refined artificial flavorings.”

“That’s why the cider at the café doesn’t hurt you either,” Robbie looked, for a moment, like he had been handed the secrets of life itself. “I can…” his face shifted, nervousness curling his shoulders in tight. “I mean…”

“Einar?”

“I can bake something for you,” Robbie said quietly. “Altering recipes is fairly simple once I know what needs to be altered. I’ll still have to use sugar, some things aren’t right without it, but I can work on finding things that can be altered for you.”

“Oh!” Sportacus laughed and Robbie realized that Aðalbjörg’s identity should have been obvious in the first place. The moment she had first laughed, the first smile, should have made it perfectly plain who she was. On her, it was motherly and warm, gentle and reassuring. On Sportacus, it was almost enough to make him melt. “I would love that!”

“…You know my name,” Robbie began slowly, watching Sportacus’s grin almost sparkle. “It’s only fair…I mean…”

“Tryggvi,” Sportacus answered before he could try to fumble his way through the rest of the sentence. “You’re right. It is fair. And I should have told you before, but I…” he bit his bottom lip, then sighed. “Tryggvi and Einar. Trustworthy and Lonely.” He reached out, allowing time for Robbie to escape, then took the taller man’s hand in his own. “My lovely Einar.”

Robbie studied his face, a small smile on his lips. He looked smaller, somehow, with his makeup washed off from the sweat caused by fear and the sudden storm that had popped up out of nowhere shortly before. “Not lonely anymore,” he confessed. “I have you.”

They continued to sit together for a time, watching the clouds drift across the sky outside the airship that belonged to Tryggvi’s mother. 

Time was only marked by the sun sinking through the sky, darkness covering the small town outside. The door opened eventually, admitting both of Sportacus’s parents. “We need to speak with you two,” Íþróttaálfurinn said gravely. Aðalbjörg was looking at them, still smiling, but it was twisted with worry. They both seemed to be worried, Robbie realized as he studied them. 

“What’s happening?”

“You know that the Unseelie Court has sent an envoy to Lazytown,” Aðalbjörg spoke up this time, her hands clasped behind her back. On her shoulder was a shimmering number eight that Robbie had somehow missed earlier. Íþróttaálfurinn had a number one on his chest, newer than the material surrounding it. “And I suspect that you have been too…Close to the source of the problem to realize that something was wrong.”

“And our son,” Íþróttaálfurinn glanced at Sportacus, his mustache twitching with the same worry that darkened his eyes. “Has been in the town for too long. It has already harmed him. We have our suspicions, but there is something we need to know.”

“Need to know what?” Robbie frowned, looking at both of them, shifting his gaze from one to the other.

“What…” Aðalbjörg started, then stopped, looking nervous. She swallowed, seemed to be trying to hold back panic, then nodded and tried again. “What year is it?”

Robbie snorted, rolling his eyes. “It’s…”

He stopped.

He should know this. He had a calendar in his lair. On the wall, above one of his machines. He had looked at it not even a full twenty-four hours ago. “It’s…I know this. I know this, I do. I looked at the calendar yesterday.” He looked at Sportacus, his eyes going wide in panicked fear. “Sportacus?”

His boyfriend’s eyes were wide as well.

“ _Lítillblá,_ ” Aðalbjörg said, stepping forward to put a hand on her son’s cheek. “Do you remember Númer níu?“ she watched as Sportacus nodded, slowly, like he was unsure. “What about you, Einar? Númer níu came to this town some time ago, intending to be the placed hero. The one with a permanent base here. You would have met them, in all likelihood.“

He remembered. 

Silver and gray and black clothing. A kind smile and a soft voice. They had worn jewelry on their left wrist, something that made bell-jingling noises when they flipped their way across the grass. The children, all of them, watching as they showed off. Robbie hadn‘t put in the periscope yet, hadn‘t installed the security systems around town. 

The kids.

Why were the kids important?

All of them were, there was no denying that. Especially now that he had a sort of duty-bound obligation to make sure they were safe. Sportacus had definitely rubbed off on him in that regard. There was something, however, that didn‘t fit. It hadn‘t fit for some time, so he had just...Glossed over it. If he could figure it out, maybe that would help.

Robbie thought of what little he remembered of the previous hero, the way their face had looked-

He collapsed sideways against Sportacus, feeling the elf‘s arms wrap tightly around him. Vaguely, in the sort of distant way you would feel something when you‘d taken a hit to the head, he could feel himself trembling. All three elves were calling his name, but he couldn‘t really hear them. 

_The way their face had looked when they‘d shown off some new trick for the kids one day. It had been sunny, warmer than average for the time of year, and the hero had pulled out a soccer ball and started dribbling it around._

_They had laughed as they passed it to the youngest of the kids, getting it back and passing it to the next. They were having fun, all of them, and Robbie watched from a bench. Something in the air felt wrong, and the hero seemed to realize it too. They looked up, spotting Robbie._

_“Alright kids,“ they said, keeping a large smile on their face. “I need to go speak with someone. Robbie?“ they raised their voice. “Can you keep an eye on them for a minute?“_

_He‘d nodded, ignoring the faint rivalry between them for the kids‘ attentions. He didn‘t remember why it was important, but it was. The kids themselves were watching the hero leave, and something was off. The children turned to look at him, one and then another, the last two at the same time. “Robbie?” the little girl with three pigtails spoke up first. “Is…”_

_“They’ll be fine,” Robbie stood up and crossed over to the kids, kneeling down. “I think they just want you to cool down for a little while. Exercise both your bodies and,” he tapped gently at her forehead. “Your minds.”_

_The other girl, the one who wore-_

“Pink,” Robbie muttered. “She wore pink.”

He swallowed, feeling the scratch of his throat as he tried to sit up again. Sportacus’s hands were on his shoulders, helping him, but he felt limp. Wrung out. Like someone had simply gathered him in their hands and twisted until almost nothing remained. “Einar?”

He didn’t know who had said it. 

“Stephanie.” Robbie frowned, trying to examine the memory from every angle. “She’s been here for a lot longer than we remember. Since she was five. There were only…four of them, back then. Still five, technically, but I don’t think Ziggy counts when he was too young to be off of his mother’s hip yet. The hero, Number Nine, they…They went off to check on something. They left me to watch over the kids, had roped me into caring for them and babysitting them because of some excuse about needing to exercise both body and mind.”

Sportacus held him closer, frowning as he looked to his parents. “What is happening outside of Lazytown?”

“Inside of Lazytown, things appear as they were. Normal, idyllic, calm…Peaceful.” Aðalbjörg spoke up from where she was perched in the pilot’s seat. “The numbered heroes act as a council and we did not even realize that something was…Off.”

“Number Nine,” Íþróttaálfurinn’s voice was quiet but certain, his hands clasped together in front of him, across his stomach as he leaned against the wall. “Was supposed to be the hero of this town. When they disappeared, Number One went to find them. He was always fond of Nine, had overseen their training. He never returned. I was promoted, Number One is always the head of the organization of heroes. Tryggvi was given my old number and I was made the head.”

The married couple shared a look for a moment. 

Aðalbjörg sighed, rubbing at her face. “Tryggvi flew off to find a town. He sent us letters every few days or so, and then one day…Nothing. No letters for months. One year, he started up again, but the letters were…Confusing. He was repeating information from some of his earlier ones. Like he was cycling through. I suspected a memory problem, but Ingvar,” she gestured at her husband. “Pointed out that Tryggvi had mentioned settling in the same town that Nine had disappeared in and that One had been heading towards when he vanished as well.”

“We don’t remember when the letters shifted from calling it Latibær to calling it Lazytown,” Íþróttaálfurinn’s sigh was strained like he was suffering in some way that could not be explained with words. “Or when Tryggvi stopped signing his letters with his name and instead used his title. I suspect it was a protective measure.”

“Whatever is going wrong here,” Aðalbjörg’s accent grew a little thicker, just like Sportacus’s, on the words she spoke. “We have been trying to figure out how to gain access to it. One never made it in. He sent a letter back to the council, talking about reaching the edge of the town, the very edges of the forest, and then he disappeared.”

“But our letters made it in,” Íþróttaálfurinn added. “The post seemed to be working fine, as did the letter delivery system for the heroes. Tryggvi was called here, easily and simply, using the-“

“They begged me to block it up,” Robbie interrupted, his face a corpse-pale white. “Number Nine.”

“Einar?” Sportacus looked at his boyfriend, still helping keep him upright, then at his parents. “Einar, what do you mean?”

“Number Nine begged me to seal the summoning-via-letter system.”


	2. Skip Turn Step

“Three of our Numbered,” Íþróttaálfurinn began, looking at those gathered before him. “Have vanished in connection to this small town.”

The rest of the heroes nodded. Number Five looked like she wanted to be sick, but she put her hands over her mouth and remained silent. The rest, when he studied their faces too, looked to be in similar states. All of them looked afraid, as if they knew something was about to happen. “Number Nine, Number One…” Íþróttaálfurinn sighed, leaning on the edge of the table. “Number Ten. My son. We’ve stopped receiving letters from him.”

All of them let out shocked cries, angry and unhappy and afraid. 

Tryggvi had grown up surrounded by them. There wasn’t a single one of them who wasn’t fond of him in some way. His son had always had the largest family of heroes in living memory. Aðalbjörg stood up, the number eight on her shoulder shimmering in the light of the meeting room.

“We suspect it is because he went to the same town as the other two,” she said. Her voice was soft but it was always enough to command their attentions.

She glanced at Íþróttaálfurinn, her eyes flashing wildly for a moment as she tried to rein in her fear. “He was stationed there for three years,” Íþróttaálfurinn explained quickly. “His letters only recently stopped arriving. They were strange before this, mentioning something about…Time being strange there. The children of the town are young but it is in a way that concerns him. They act like they have forever to do things, in his words.”

Number Six raised his hand, trembling faintly. 

“Yes?”

“Have you tried contacting his ship?”

Íþróttaálfurinn looked to his wife, feeling somewhat lost under the weight of his worry. Aðalbjörg nodded, stepping in again. “Tryggvi’s ship is unresponsive. We have reason to believe that she is stuck in whatever is happening in Lazytown.”

“But you’ve been there before!” Number Three shouted suddenly, looking distressed. 

“I have,” Íþróttaálfurinn nodded. “But I suspect that when I visited, whatever is happening had not occurred yet. It…” he trailed off, rolling his shoulders to try and relieve some of the strain on them. “It feels different now. Lazytown used to be Latibær, and there are some reasons a name would change like that. This does not seem to be one of those circumstances.”

Number Seven, in her infinite patience and calm, even in the worst of times, seemed to turn a shade of sickly green. “Do you think it has anything to do with Glæpur?” she said softly.

His entire body going stiff, Íþróttaálfurinn turned to look at her.

She was one of the few who knew about his history with the criminal. One of the only ones who knew how much he still loved Glæpur, even with as much as he loved his wife. If she was suggesting that Glanni had something to do with this, she had a good reason. “Is he being a nuisance in your town?”

“He is kicking at shadows,” she replied steadily, even as she seemed to look sicker. “The word is that he seeks his grandson.”

“Glæpur is nothing but trouble,” one of the others murmured. “If he is looking for someone, we should bring them into custody, even if only to protect them.” When Íþróttaálfurinn turned to see who had spoken, Number Two had stood up from his seat. “You know I am right. Glanni Glæpur is trouble, always has been and always will be, until Death Herself sees fit to remove him from life.”

All of the numbered put a respectful hand to their chests, bowing their heads for a moment.

Number Seven cleared her throat, directing her gaze towards Two. “Be that as it may,” she had switched from a calm tone to one that was tense, ready to fight if she needed to be. “I do not think that Glæpur is the mastermind behind this problem. He is fae, but that is…This is not his usual signature. He knows better than to take on the Numbered by himself, especially in a full-frontal attack.”

“Not exactly full-frontal when those missing have been picked off, one by one,” Two shot back.

“That is enough,” Íþróttaálfurinn stepped in before they could devolve into a full-blown argument. “Seven is right. This is not Glæpur’s particular brand of villainy. The more we argue,” he looked to his wife. Aðalbjörg’s hands were clenched tightly behind her back, falling into a readied stance as she tried to breathe deeply enough for her worry to abate. “The less time our missing have. We don’t know what is happening, but we need to find out.”

“How do you propose we do that?” Number Five asked quietly.

“Number Eight and I will start researching the town. Anything odd in the history of it, anything that stands out to us, we will compile a list. Once the research phase has been done, we will attempt to find a way in.” Íþróttaálfurinn took a deep breath. “Once we find a way in, we will make it so that we can get out again before we start rescuing whoever might need rescuing.”

The Numbered stared at him.

Shock, horror, fear…He saw all of it reflected back at him in their eyes. “You can’t,” Seven whispered. “You’ve only just been appointed the head of us. The voting was unanimous. If you disappear, we have no one else ready to fill the role. Those training to be the next generation of heroes are not ready yet.”

“We have no other choice,” Íþróttaálfurinn smiled but even he could tell that they knew it was fake. “We are the heroes, we do as we must.”

 

xXx

 

He had finally found him.

His grandson, the only remaining heir to the noble bloodline of Glæpur. Einar Glæpur was located after so many years of searching, so many years of coming up empty-handed. It had been his own stupid stubbornness that had chased the boy away in the first place.

Glanni circled the town, feeling the edges of the forest crackle with anger.

Something was wrong inside of the boundaries. Latibær had been welcoming before, even to him, and to see it behave as if it wanted nothing more than the suffering of those seeking to enter was odd. It felt more like an Unseelie habitat than anything, but even those welcomed him. Like recognizes like and all that.

But Latibær had never felt this…Poisoned.

Not even when Glanni had been the one poisoning it. This was something different, something infinitely more worrying. It was as if the trees themselves were pushing outsiders away. His grandson was within the confines of it, trapped in whatever magic was asserting itself there.

Latibær had been bigger, Glanni thought as he looked at the trees in front of him. Sure, it had always been a small town, but it had definitely been bigger than what it was now. Every instinct was sending lightning down his spine, warning him away, but Glanni needed to know. Needed to enter the town and find his grandson. Whatever was happening inside might be a threat to the family and he could not let that occur. He had made many mistakes in his life, including chasing off more than one person.

He would not let this be another mistake.

Gathering his little-used courage, Glanni steadied himself and snapped his fingers, focusing intently on the center of the town. Buried deep within a shed, still baring the traces of his magic, was the costume and tools he had used as Dan Can. A good focus now, something to tether him inside of the town locked away in what appeared to be a bubble of time.

The moment his heels hit the ground, Glanni looked around. 

No curious citizens came to see him, no policeman rushing to question him. It seemed as if the town had been emptied. 

Glanni raised his head, sniffing the air and adjusting his jacket. 

Einar was here somewhere.

Might as well cast a spell or three to catch his attention. Something that would be obvious, the mark of the family perhaps? Glanni glanced around, making a face as he noticed various things. Unseelie identifications were easy. A ring of toadstools around the town, maybe some sleeping children, it would be easy enough to find the younger Glæpur.

 

xXx

 

The woods were quiet, these days.

 

xXx

 

“Lazytown doesn’t have a forest,” Glanni announced, standing suddenly inside Aðalbjörg’s airship.

All three elves turned to look at him, various levels of shock on their faces. “What?” Sportacus blinked a couple of times. “Yes, it does. Is right there,” he gestured out the window, down to the foliage below. When Robbie had collapsed, his mother had flown the ship higher, out of range of whatever had been harming him. “It is a very isolated town, small and unconnected to the world outside of it.”

“No,” Glanni crossed his arms over his chest. “Lazytown doesn’t have a forest.”

He made his way over to the window, wearing only the catsuit and heels he had worn the last time he had been in town. “Or rather, I should say, it didn’t use to.” He tapped the glass with his nails, a pensive look on his face. “Certainly not one that grew that thickly, as if it were trying to wrap around every living being inside the town and hide them away.”

Íþróttaálfurinn frowned, watching the older fae’s movements. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on,” Glanni scoffed. “Surely you’ve realized?” he gestured out the window, impatient and more than a little scared. “Latibær was bigger, more connected to the world than this. You were the town hero for a time,” he met Íþróttaálfurinn’s eyes. “Try to remember. The little town you watched over.”

When Íþróttaálfurinn didn’t seem convinced, Glanni turned to Aðalbjörg. “Where in the world are we right now?” he asked her, his voice quiet. 

“I-“ Aðalbjörg blinked a couple of times.

“Einar,” Glanni turned to look at his grandson. “Where did the letters to the both of you come from?” he gestured at the elves. “The ones from these two. Where were they addressed from, did they send anything that would tell you?”

“…Nóa Konfekt,” Robbie said quietly. “Icelandic chocolates.”

“And that is precisely the problem,” Glanni took a deep breath, trying to breathe steadily and failing. “Latibær is in Iceland. There shouldn’t be a distinction in countries when sending letters back and forth. How long would it take your letters to get to your parents?” he turned on Sportacus. “How quickly did theirs come back to you?”

“Lazytown isn’t in Iceland,” Robbie muttered. “It’s…”

“Where, then? If not Iceland, then where?” Glanni curled his hands around his arms, turning to look back out the window. “The Unseelie Courts are angry. I couldn’t make them believe that waiting was in their best interest. That’s why an envoy was sent, that’s why you two were attacked. Do you remember what happened first?”

Sportacus frowned, rubbing soothingly at Robbie’s back. “We were in the forest.”

“Latibær isn’t supposed to have a forest,” the older fae countered. “And it definitely isn’t supposed to be called ‘Lazytown’. The first thing you remember of being attacked was running, yes?” his gray eyes flicked between the two of them. “Through the trees and a sudden storm.”

“Glanni, what is it that you know?” 

Glanni looked at Íþróttaálfurinn, his eyes narrowed. “Many things. I also seem to know more about what might be happening than you do, apparently. Someone created a time bubble around this tiny little town. As long as you stay within the confines of the town, you think it is always the same year. The same year that saw a hero disappear and a villain become a villain. You’re both right, by the way,” he gestured at Íþróttaálfurinn and Sportacus. “My grandson is not a villain. Inside of Lazytown, it is always two-thousand-and-three. The year the hero Nine vanished. There’s a time loop involved, I haven’t figured it out yet, but we may still be able to save those inside of it.”

“Everyone is still aging!” Robbie sat up, shaky and quickly steadied by Sportacus. “That can’t be what is happening, you must be wrong!”

“Einar,” Glanni’s voice dropped into what might have been a soothing tone if he’d ever had any practice. “Outside of Lazytown, the whole world is about fourteen years ahead of you. There are ways to keep everyone aging and unaware of the passage of time.”

“…Stephanie was supposed to be here for the summer,” Sportacus whispered.

“Why are you all for saving the citizens?” Aðalbjörg frowned, watching Glanni. He turned towards her, his thin body tensed with what seemed to be fear. “You are a villain, even if your grandson is not.”

“Because this whole town stinks of magic gone wrong,” his voice was quiet. “There is a balance to the world, one that even I must adhere to. Magic is magic, it goes where it is supposed to go. Things flow along like a river, even with people like me in the world. People like me are the rocks at the bottom of the river; we divert the path, alter the currents, but we are ultimately not that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things.

“Whatever is happening here, whatever has caused this,” he took a deep breath. “This is like putting a dam across the river and forcing it to flood the bank. It is wrong in a desperate sort of way and it feels like someone is scraping the inside of my mind clean every time I go near it.”

Robbie watched him, his mouth hanging slack. 

“He’s right,” Íþróttaálfurinn whispered. “None of what is happening down there is how it should be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some more time skips. The first chunk is before the events of the series, the second chunk is just before Glanni finds Robbie and Sportacus, the end part is a direct continuation of the previous chapter.


	3. Forgotten Moments

What is supposed to be done with a time bubble?

That was the thought that haunted Robbie as they puttered through the sky. Glanni was refusing to move away from the windows, pacing back and forth like a caged cat. The ship itself was making slow circuits above, higher even than Sportacus’s ship.

Tryggvi’s ship.

The name made sense. Trustworthy. The syllables were smooth on his tongue, a language he had been raised knowing, and it felt more like home than anything else he had ever come across. Tryggvi the brave, Tryggvi the hero, all of the nicknames he had ever assigned to his boyfriend that weren’t to do, explicitly, with his title…They all fit. Tryggvi was who he was and it smacked of a True Name. It wasn’t the entirety of it, was merely a shade of True, but it felt like a secret he needed to keep. 

He wasn’t sure he could ever keep himself from saying in the darkness, pressing the shape of it into the body lying in bed with him, mapping it with his lips. Somewhere between a prayer and a plea.

Robbie glanced up, spotting his boyfriend’s mother standing near her husband. 

Right.

Parents.

Probably not the best time to think about things like that. The only thing to really distract him from it was the scenery of the town below. Just looking at it made him feel sick, his stomach churning with distaste and his mouth soured with fear. Glanni was right. 

Things were wrong in Lazytown.

Now that he had been pulled away, taken out of range, he could see it. The town was awash in a sickly yellow light, mimicking a winter melting into spring from almost a decade and a half before. From what Glanni had explained, hushed tones as Aðalbjörg had flown them higher, time had gone by normally until whatever Nine had done. Whether they’d sacrificed themself or been destroyed, time had frozen in the very moment it happened.

They had spent several years with looping memories.

Outside of the trapped time, it was easy to see the loop. Stephanie had arrived when she was five, all chubby cheeks and pinks clothes. Her hair hadn’t been pink, back then. The problem was that she had arrived the day before Nine’s desperate actions had happened. She had come to stay with her uncle for the summer, her father too sick and her mother overwhelmed.

The pink had come when she had turned nine.

She was introducing herself for the eight time. The repeat was six months, happening twice a year, and she had been introducing herself _again_. The insidious thing about the loop was that things still changed. The children still got older, letters still arrived, but once the loop hit…

Memories were lost and it was like the half-year that had already happened was reset. 

It had only been when the mayor had finally broken the cycle, brought in another hero the day Stephanie introduced herself for the tenth time, that anything had changed. Time still reset, an endless summer of fun and mischief, but there was a more natural flow to it.

One that had been brought about by new magic.

Tryggvi’s magic hadn’t been in the loop when it was created. He was the reason it had all started changing.

With his grandfather’s information, Robbie thought as he closed his eyes, it was not hard at all to make the leaps to what seemed to be the correct answers. They had all lived the same six months again and again, without the memory reset. They weren’t aware of the previous run of time, only aware of the immediate moment.

Thus why he couldn’t tell Aðalbjörg what year it was.

Robbie sighed and buried his face in Tryggvi’s shoulder, his hands clenching in the blue fabric of his vest.

 

xXx

 

“We need to go into the forest,” Glanni said quietly, his hands clasped awkwardly. 

He was hunched over, his focus seemingly on the forest below, and he shuffled his feet. Íþróttaálfurinn knew that he didn’t age as humans did, didn’t show age the same way, he looked unbearably young. His own grandson looked older than him. Fae aged in half-rates, less than, and a year to them was four to a human. “Eventually, yes.” He responded after a silence that decided to hang in the air exactly like a brick shouldn’t. 

“No,” Glanni shook his head. “Not eventually. Soon. Whatever is causing this, this… _Wrongness_. It’ll be in there.”

“How are you so sure of that?”

Glanni gave him a look.

Íþróttaálfurinn remembered that look. It was the one where Glanni was questioning his intelligence. The fae had looked at him like that many times. The last time he had seen it in person had been when all that they’d had together crumbled. Like so much dust against a hurricane held together with nothing but hope and desperation.

The fae hadn’t wanted to settle down. Íþróttaálfurinn had wanted to.

He wondered if Glanni ever regretted it.

“Alright,” he said instead of letting his thoughts slip out, uncensored and unleashed. “What do you think is happening in the forest?” he studied Glanni’s face as he waited for an answer, let his eyes pick up the details of his life. He wasn’t eating enough, had let his glamours drop so that his slightly pointed ears were exposed. His eyes flashed between silver and gray and blue, refusing to settle. The poisoning of the food had been a prank, designed by an Unseelie fae, and a rather tame one at that. No one had died but plenty had been sick for a while. Íþróttaálfurinn winced a little as he remembered the children he had been the hero for in the town that lay below them. They would have grown and raised their own and some of them would be gone by now.

And he was here, ageless and unknowing of the danger that had befallen their grandchildren until something had gone wrong with his own child.

“Did Nine have any enemies?” Glanni met his unfocused stare with his own.

“…They had a Villain.” Aðalbjörg answered after an awkward moment in which her husband did not answer. “Like you were Ingvar’s villain. Nine had a history with them, something about growing up together, I believe. Nine didn’t want to remember the good times with them, there was too much pain for them to do that.”

“Childhood love?” Glanni raised an eyebrow, looking distinctly unimpressed. “How cute.”

Aðalbjörg shook her head, her blonde curls flopping around her ears. “They were best friends until one day, he tried to kill Nine.” She frowned, her lips curling with it until she looked unsure and a little scared. “I suppose not much like you at all. You never tried to kill Ingvar.”

Glanni snorted but didn’t respond to that. “So…What? Do we try to outlive someone who may just be inside the time bubble? His life span has got to be almost over-“

“Except that Nine’s villain was an elf.”

Both Glanni and Aðalbjörg turned to look at Sportacus. “…What.” Glanni managed to speak first. 

“He’s an elf,” Sportacus said it again. “Nine’s villain. They showed me a portrait of him one time, and he looked…” he hesitated, still scratching gently at Robbie’s scalp. “He wasn’t…” he swallowed nervously, refusing to let go of Robbie. “I was so small when I found out. It was a day when mamma and pabbi had to go on a trip to somewhere else and keep something from happening. Nine was the one watching me that day. They showed me what their villain looked like and…” he closed his eyes, putting a hand over them as he tried to remember. “Half-elf. He is a half-elf.”

“Wonderful,” Glanni rolled his eyes. “Íþ-“

He stopped, blinking incredulously at the empty space where Íþróttaálfurinn had been standing only a few minutes before. 

“Wonderful,” Glanni said again. “Of all the gods above and below, just _wonderful_. Hero number one has gone off to allow his _actual hero complex_ to guide him into _possible death_. Fan-fucking-tastic.” He jabbed a finger against the window when Aðalbjörg made a questioning noise. “See the yellow blur falling through the air? Yeah, I am willing to bet many things that’s him.”

He headed for Robbie and Sportacus, stopping in front of the elf and sighing. “Do me a favor,” he said quietly. “Please take after your mother more. It’s unbecoming to make a fae follow you into a battle you aren’t prepared for. The three of you need to stay up here and plan; apparently, I have a possible death match to attend in the forest below.” He snapped his fingers, disappearing, a cloud of pink hovering over where he had been. 

 

xXx

 

It was cold.

The forest was freezing, the trees bent under the force of a wind that could not be felt. Íþróttaálfurinn shivered as he stepped further in, feeling branches drag at him. They caught on his hat, his vest, but he did not stop moving. Somewhere in the forest was an old friend, someone he might still be able to save. Aðalbjörg might be angry at him for jumping out of her ship to go alone, but she would understand. He was the head of the order, now.

He had a duty to fulfill, an exact measure and balance to keep.

Two of the heroes he was allied with were still missing. It was his job to bring them home or to at least bring what he could find of them home. Níu deserved to come home after all this time, their family deserved to know what had happened.

Glanni and Aðalbjörg were both going to yell at him before this was over.

He could almost hear Glanni’s ranting.

“How could you,” he muttered, pitching his voice to sound more like the fae. “You dumb idiot, of course it’s a bad idea to go wandering through the time bubble, especially alone…” sighing, he looked around, feeling something like a plucked string pulling at his heart. It felt like fear but it wasn’t his own. 

It also felt familiar. 

“Níu,“ he whispered, following the feeling. It was closer to the center of the forest, the heart of it, and his feet found a path before he was aware. Whatever had happened, he had managed to find the thread that led to the heart. The trees around him were warped, bent nearly in half at some points, like they were reacting to a blow that had already come and gone. Níu‘s magic was strong, thickening the air and making it harder to breathe. 

“You gods damned idiot,” came the quiet snarl from behind him. 

Íþróttaálfurinn smiled, turning to meet the fae’s eyes. “Hallo Glanni,” he said quietly. “Are you alright?” he peered up through the trees, seeing the underside of his wife’s ship. “How quickly did you-“

“Immediately,” Glanni was still snarling, his hands clenched at his sides. “You shouldn’t have left alone, you idiotic elf.” He stepped closer, moving around a cluster of trees. “I just had to hike through here, couldn’t teleport in, not close enough to find you. Not going to risk adding magic to what I could already feel in the air. You-“ he took a deep breath, coming to a halt beside Íþróttaálfurinn. “You’re not doing this alone. Whatever is wrong here isn’t just from your part of the world, there’s fae magic hanging in the air.”

He rolled his eyes to look at Íþróttaálfurinn. “Which you would know if you hadn’t gone running off, into danger, _alone._ ”

“I am just glad you care enough to come find me,” Íþróttaálfurinn smiled, starting again and watching Glanni walk with him. “I would have thought you didn’t. We parted on…Unkind terms. Back then. When we were younger.”

“…You wanted children,” Glanni whispered. “You wanted to settle down and have children, white picket fence and a two-story house in the suburbs. I’m not meant for that. It’s part of who I am, you would have wanted me to change too much. Aðalbjörg was good for you, she wanted the same sort of life as you. You’re both heroes, you both wanted children, both wanted a settled life. Arranged marriage worked out for you,” he glanced at Aðalbjörg’s ship for a moment. “Your son is dating my grandson. Things worked out for you.”

Íþróttaálfurinn reached out, gently putting his hand on Glanni’s shoulder. “What about for you? You have a daughter-“

“Had.”

“…What?”

“Had. Eir was…” Glanni swallowed nervously, shaking his head. “Robbie’s father was…Mostly human. His family was not happy about a fae ‘Bewitching’ their eldest son. They carried out a form of torture and murder that hasn’t been seen since I was young. They knew of the old ways of doing things, of making sure that she suffered.” His hands were shaking. “My daughter was dead before I could even get to her. Einar was crying, being inspected by the family who had just killed her.”

“What did you do to them?”

Glanni’s eyes were focused somewhere, some distant place and time, and he shook his head. “I left them alive and without their memories of anything but her death. No knowledge of my grandson, no knowing what she was.”

“Glanni,” Íþróttaálfurinn’s hand tightened on his shoulder, trying to comfort the fae.

“No,” Glanni pulled away from him. “I heard her magic scream as they ripped her apart. They _murdered_ my daughter,” he swung around to bare his teeth in a growl. It reminded Íþróttaálfurinn of nothing so much as an angry cat, his back arched and his hands tensed into clawing shapes. “It does not matter that I didn’t want one in the first place. I ended up with one and she was family. I adapted to the situation and then they _took her from me._ Einar was all I had left and I screwed that up too, so kindly,” his shoulders were raising a little as if he were preparing to let wings unfurl from his back and let his magic loose to level the forest around them. “ _Let go of me._ ”

Íþróttaálfurinn let go.

“All I was going to say,” his voice was gentle, his eyes searching Glanni’s face. “Was that I was sorry. No one deserves to lose their family like that.”

The fae relaxed, all at once, and Íþróttaálfurinn reached out again to help support his weight. “You’ve been grieving all this time,” he muttered, pulling Glanni in for a tight hug. “If we did not have to fix Latibær right now, I would let you sleep and do as much as I could to soothe you.”

“You have a wife,” Glanni grumbled, wrenching himself away. “I’m not going to be selfish, not like that.”

Before Íþróttaálfurinn could answer, Glanni stopped dead. 

“Glanni?”

“Found it,” Glanni said quietly.

In the middle of the forest was a nearly blinding light, revealing the form of a hero long since thought lost. Níu‘s hat was askew, their crystal in the middle of flashing a bright warning. Their villain was in their arms, his eyes screwed shut like he was afraid.

Behind the both of them was a cloud of darkness, surrounding the shape of someone else. “Looks like there was a fight,” Glanni kept his distance from the scene, circling carefully around it. “Fourteen years of the same six months repeating?” he frowned, then shook his head. “No. Only a couple of years of that. The pink child, she should be nineteen right now. They’ve all started to age normally, still thinking it’s that same year. Your son disrupted things, changed how it was…”

“How do you know?” Íþróttaálfurinn studied his friend, almost aching to reach out and drag them away from the danger that had been frozen in time.

Glanni’s eyes flashed dangerously, his mouth set in a stubborn twist. “Their magic is telling me. All three of them. The magic coming from here used to reset the months, anyone trying to leave would have been caught in it. No wonder the town is so small,” he chuckled humorlessly. “People got afraid of the changes they could see and tried to run.”

“Do you know what happened to them?” Íþróttaálfurinn looked back at Glanni, watching the fae’s intense focus on the scene that lay in front of him. “Can you find out from their magics?”

“Anyone running,” Glanni hummed under his breath, eyes half-closed. “Would have been ‘Saved’ in the sense of being made still in the edges of the bubble. Willing to bet that’s where the population of Lazytown went. Any of them who didn’t make it out at the first warning signs would have been caught in the fringes and kept there. Nine’s powers relate to time and the monitoring and peacekeeping of it.”

He narrowed his eyes suddenly, his hands glowing bright pink. “But we should be able to pull someone from the contained explosion and get some answers.”

Before Íþróttaálfurinn could react to his statement, Glanni lashed out and grabbed the collar of one of the three within the heart of the time bubble, yanking back as hard as he could. The person he’d grabbed came easily, leaving a speed-blur behind. It looked like an unfocused photo at the moment someone had chosen to move.

Glanni hadn’t grabbed Níu.

Níu’s villain coughed and sputtered, clutching at his rib cage, his eyes wide as he stumbled on his feet. Nearly falling to the ground, he doubled over, retching loudly. “Agnar,” he hissed out, leaning up to glare at them. “…Not Agnar.”

“Not Agnar,” Glanni confirmed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Íþróttaálfurinn and Glanni.”

“Glanni.”

“What?” He’s been stuck there for _some time_ and it’s bound to be confusing.” The fae rolled his eyes. “We’re not his hero.”

“…Ten,” the villain gasped out, still clutching at his ribs. “Did Agnar’s call for help make it out? The attack seemed to destroy their beacon, we both thought it was a useless endeavor.” He paused again, squinting to look at the number on Íþróttaálfurinn’s chest. “Wait…What?” he swallowed, wiped absently at the blood on his jaw. “No, really, what?” his eyes rose to meet Íþróttaálfurinn’s gaze, his jaw hanging open. “You’re not Ten.”

“No,” Íþróttaálfurinn shook his head. “Not for a while now.”

“But there needs to be a Ten,” the villain glanced at Glanni, wincing when he took a deep breath and strained his ribs. “If there’s not a Ten, then are the Numbered disbanded? Because no, the Numbered need to be around, they’re one of the only ways I can think of to beat _him!_ ” he gestured at the dark-cloud cloaked figure. “His name is Illur and he-“ he shuddered, stepping back. “Let’s put it this way: Illur is the one who made me want to repair my friendship with Agnar.”

“And what’s your name?” Glanni arched an eyebrow, his hands still blowing bright pink. “Talk quickly, I’m getting _bored._ ”

The other villain swallowed, his eyes going wide. “Ketill. My name is Ketill. I used to be Agnar’s best friend. They and I got into a couple of big arguments, I tried to kill them, became their Villain, they become my opposing Hero. Just like you two,” he gestured at both of them with his free hand. 

“Nothing like us,” Glanni corrected. “I’ve never tried to kill my hero.”

Íþróttaálfurinn smiled at him, then looked at Ketill again. “Half-elf,” he addressed him. 

“Yes.”

“What was happening here?”

Ketill laughed breathlessly, nearly retching again. “Illur attacked me. I don’t know why, he kept mentioning something about a weak link, a connection that made me useful and also ultimately useless. He,” Ketill rubbed at his face, looking dizzy for a moment. His hand came away from his nose covered in blood but he didn’t seem to notice. “I think he thought I was friendly with my Hero the way you were.” He jerked his head at Glanni. The motion freed more blood to drip from his nose. “I think he might have hit me a little hard,” Ketill sounded woozy, his eyes sliding out of focus again. “Feel all…Dizzy…”

His eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped.

With a startled noise, Íþróttaálfurinn managed to catch him, eyes wide. “He is bleeding,” he muttered, his hand glowing faintly orange as he ran it gently over Ketill’s torso. “Massive internal damages. I…I think we need to put him back into the bubble.”

“So what do we do?” Glanni growled, his fists clenching. “Agnar can’t be pulled out, that might destabilize the entire time thing. Illur can’t be pulled, he’s the threat and we don’t know how he fights. Ketill might be dying right now and if we just shove him back in, then his injuries go back into stasis and we don’t know how close he actually is to death.” He turned on his heel stomping his way around the scene to stand near Illur. “He told us useful things but we can’t make any actual use of them!”

Íþróttaálfurinn curled his fist above Ketill’s heart, pushing a wave of orange magic into his chest and sighing when it detached from him. “There,” he muttered, leaning forward to guide Ketill back into Agnar’s hold. “Healing spell. He will heal and when we retrieve them, he will survive.”

“You care too much for random strangers,” Glanni rolled his eyes. “Ketill is a villain, he won’t thank you.”

“No,” Íþróttaálfurinn shrugged. “He won’t. But I do not need thanks to know that I have done something good. If he survives, it will likely make Agnar happy, and they are an old friend of mine.” He rolled his shoulders, studying Illur’s face. “The villain’s villain seems to be the worse threat here.”

“And you two,” Robbie’s voice carried through the trees. “Are both _idiots._ ”

Glanni snorted out a laugh, turning to look at his grandson. “Einar, welcome to the party. Have you got a plan figured out yet?”

“The equipment on Aðalbjörg’s ship says that the source of the magic is here,” Robbie shrugged. “Time-aligned, which she and Tryggvi are saying makes sense for Nine. I figure that if we lay down a barrier around us and keep it from going into town, we’ll be able to neutralize it here and keep it from getting to the townsfolk. Nine and their villain,” he paused, looking into the circle. “Who’s the third one?”

“Named Illur,” Glanni crossed his arms over his chest. “Nine’s villain has a villain.”

“ _Wonderful,_ ” Robbie hissed out. “We lay down a barrier and keep this from getting to the town, then we can work from the center and get time to run normally again. It’s cyclical right now. Constant circles. Aging doesn’t work right, it used to be that the memories were resetting so that every six months was a new day for Stephanie to move into town.” He swallowed nervously. “She should be nineteen, but she is thirteen.”

“Enough stolen days to make up several years,” Tryggvi’s voice echoed through the woods. “I should have seen it before.”

Íþróttaálfurinn met his son’s eyes. “It isn’t your fault,” he whispered. “You were too close to the problem to see the root of it. I should not have sent you into this town, should have come myself. We had already lost two of our numbered to it, I should have been investigating.”

“Afi,” Robbie said quietly. “We’re going to need help.”

“What do you think I’m doing here, kid?” Glanni’s eyebrows rose, his eyes flashing almost dangerously in the dim lighting between the trees. 

“No, I mean…” hands clenching so tightly his knuckles were white, Robbie met his eyes. “I mean we’re going to need all the help we can get. If…If the amount of magic at work here escapes the borders of the forest, the entire world might be in danger. We’re going to need the help of-“

“The Court.”

Robbie nodded. 

“You want me to ask the Court for a favor,” Glanni’s eyes were wide as he considered his grandson. “I have barely any standing with them.”

“This is considered their territory, right?” Robbie gestured around them. “Because I live here and you were here for a while. Enough of a marker of ownership in terms of fae territory?” he swallowed again, trying to speak around what must have been a bone-dry throat. “Tell them it’s a condition of me being marked as your heir. If they’re willing to attack the town because they want me so badly, then they can afford to help us.”

Glanni stepped towards him, fear in his eyes, his hands slashing through the air as he shook his head. His every movement spoke of anxiety and Íþróttaálfurinn could still read him so easily. “No. I’m not going to use you as bait like that, you-“

“It’s the only way that my _home_ can come out of this unharmed,” Robbie hissed back.

The elder of the two faes was panicking, his chest gently heaving as he tried to figure out some way of arguing against that. His mouth was moving, no words coming out, and his face had gone pale. “You’ll owe them,” he whispered eventually. “You’ll owe them so much, you won’t be able to get away. Unseelie, Einar. They are not the Court aligned with your grandmother, they are the Court aligned with _me._ I’m one of the nicest to come out of that and you’ve seen- you’ve _all_ seen – what I’m like!”

Íþróttaálfurinn jolted. “What?”

“Afi-“

“His grandmother,” Glanni didn’t even glance at Íþróttaálfurinn, his shoulders rising defensively. “Was a member of the Seelie Court. Neither she nor I were aware of the separate alignments until after we’d slept together. It was why she gave me my daughter and walked away. Unseelie alignment tends to win out over everything else.”

“That’s why they want him so badly,” Tryggvi spoke up at last, his hand protectively on Robbie’s shoulder. “They want to claim him before the other Court can.”

“Because my daughter repeated the same thing as I did,” Glanni sighed. “Part of the reason Einar’s father’s family was so convinced that my daughter had done something wrong to him was because she found out that his father was half Seelie. The family didn’t take too kindly to the idea that they were anything but human, no matter whose side of things it came from.”

Robbie cleared his throat. “But would it work?”

“They want you so that the Seelie can’t have you,” Glanni laughed, harsh and bitter. “Of course it will work. The Seelie and the Unseelie have been involved in petty squabbles for centuries. Can’t…Einar, please just think this through.”

“I did that already!” Robbie’s upper lip peeled back as he snarled the words out. “You two decided to come running down here in a possible suicide mission, we stayed behind to work out what to do. This is what we decided and you weren’t there to say anything about it, so now you need to shut up and only answer what I am asking. Contact them in whatever way you need to,” he took a deep breath. “Because this needs to end _now._ ”

“…The little pink girl was right,” Glanni’s lips quirked into a humorless smile. “You aren’t a villain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter.
> 
> Is anyone out there actually reading this? I'm just going to shut up now. I'll get the next one out soon enough.


	4. And When The Smoke Clears

The barrier was set.

Glanni swallowed nervously, his hands twitching at his sides as he stepped back from it. “You’re…Insane,” he turned to his grandson. “I hope you know that. This is somehow worse than any plan I’ve ever come up with and you’ve seen how those have all ended.” He shrugged, taking a deep breath and tried not to panic. “At least we know you’re related to me.”

“As if how I look didn’t say that enough,” Robbie made a face, studying his grandfather’s face. 

With a snort, Glanni smoothed a hand down the front of his catsuit. “You look more human than me. Not necessarily a bad thing, but…More human. Enough to differentiate between us. Einar,” he worried at his bottom lip. “Whatever happens here, I’ve already lost my daughter. I thought I’d lost you a long time ago as well, was almost certain I’d feel the connection between family snap again. Don’t die.”

Robbie nodded slowly. “I don’t plan on it.”

“You’re invoking Unseelie Court protections. Most people don’t plan on dying but you’re skating the edge of dangerous things and I would prefer to not see you die from it.”

Laying a hand on his arm, Robbie sighed. “I’ll do my best?”

“All I ask for.”

They both turned away at the same time. Robbie walked over to Tryggvi and Glanni watched him out of the corner of his eye, his shoulders tense. “Are we ready?” Íþróttaálfurinn’s voice was sudden, seemingly out of nowhere, and Glanni turned to look at him. “Is everything prepared?”

“It should be.” Glanni rubbed both hands over his face. “But there’s no telling exactly how the Unseelie Court will react to _elves being in the area_. Especially since you three are the ones they will view as having kept them from Einar in the first place. This is a stupid idea, we’re all going to die.” He peeked at Íþróttaálfurinn between his fingers. “By far a worse one than any of mine. Just so we’re clear on the benchmark of bad ideas: This one is worse than any of my plots and schemes ever were. Mine had very little risk of danger and death to any involved.”

“And yet you poisoned an entire town.”

“And the moment I left, the effects would have worn off. A couple of days, at most,” Glanni rolled his eyes. “My grandson is calling on the very people who want him contained and controlled because they haven’t been able to find him. We’re still technically in Winter. Winter belongs to Them. Time is flowing weirdly here and not a single member of the Court is _happy_ about _any of this_.”

“He might be able to make a bargain with them.”

“When, in living memory, has any bargain been struck with the Unseelie that was favorable to the one trying to make a deal?”

Íþróttaálfurinn’s smile was ridiculously bright. “There is a first time for everything.”

“It’s about as likely as Aðalbjörg and I getting along in a situation that does not involve you in the room between us. She is a lovely woman and she and I would kill each other if it weren’t for you being _right there_.” Glanni groaned, covering his face again. “And you know it.”

“I do, yes.”

“Then you can see why this is a _terrible_ idea!”

“Of course,” Íþróttaálfurinn continued like he hadn’t even heard Glanni. “You and Aðalbjörg were in a room together and both of you are alive right now. Without me having been in the room. My son and your grandson were likely distracted and not paying attention, so it would have just been the two of you.” He grinned, all smugness and shiny teeth. “So there is that.”

“…I _hate you_ sometimes.” Glanni groaned. “Just because there’s one time-“

“Doesn’t mean it will hold out, as far as our luck is concerned. I know.” Íþróttaálfurinn nodded, his eyes closing. “But there is always a chance. Even if you think something is impossible, there is always a _chance_. Wouldn’t you prefer to see the optimistic side of things?”

Glanni groaned again, rolling his shoulders to try and get them loosened. “If I did that, we would have worked out.” He felt his voice quiver, his stomach feeling sour all of a sudden. “Optimism would have made us work out a little easier, you wouldn’t have married Aðalbjörg at the right time, your son wouldn’t have been born on the right time schedule – Or even at all. One small event could have led to you having a daughter or no children at all. Einar would be alone and miserable. So you see,” he concluded, looking at the hero. “Optimism does me do good at all.”

He looked over to where Robbie was standing, swallowing his nerves. “I think it’s time.” He muttered before he walked away from Íþróttaálfurinn.

 

xXx

 

“I think it’s time,” Robbie said quietly, his breathing shallow and his hands clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white.

Tryggvi clasped his hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs along the hard ridges of his knuckles and knocking their foreheads gently together. “Remember to breathe,” he said quietly. “It is a bad idea to pass out right now. Follow my breathing?” he met Robbie’s eyes. “Einar?” 

No response.

With a sigh, Tryggvi leaned up again and nudged their noses together, kissing him gently. “Come on out of your head,” he whispered. “Things to do out here.”

“Schedules to follow,” Robbie muttered, finally meeting his gaze. “Courts to call upon and get large favors from. Afi is right, this is such a bad idea,” he laughed, the sound of it edged with hysteria. “But it’s the only one we’ve got. Everything else would have taken too long or left the town vulnerable. There are people in there that I’ve grown fond of, I don’t want them to be dead when I come home.”

“They won’t be,” Tryggvi smiled up at him. “You are smart, Einar. You know what you’re doing. You can figure out a way around this, even with it stacked against you.”

“Alright,” Robbie nodded. “Alright.”

He stepped away from his boyfriend, letting their hands remain clasped until they got closer to the barrier that had been built around the clearing. Enough room to maneuver but not enough room for Illur to corner any one of them. Robbie glanced at the frozen scene, studying the details for a moment before nodding again. 

Pouring his power through the edge of it, Robbie waited for the shadows to rise up and come towards him.

Aðalbjörg watched both of them carefully, her eyes practically glowing in the darkness of the forest. In her hands was her quarterstaff, shifting nervously in her grip. Her shoulders were tensed, her eyes straying from her son as he stood beside Robbie to look at Robbie. They waited for the fae to bargain with those who might want revenge on every elf currently present.

Glanni was watching too, his hands clenched at his sides like he wanted nothing more than to run forward and stop his grandson. His wings had slipped out at some point, held tense in the air behind him.

“There are those who would call this a gamble,” Aðalbjörg whispered. “And I believe they would be right. But if this works,” she laughed. “Oh, but if this works, then there is a threat removed from this world. Tryggvi?” she called out. “Step away from him, you know how it goes.”

Robbie felt his boyfriend’s hand leave his and he forced back a whimper at the loss of contact. 

The shadows shifted, eyes glowing in the darkness, and he suddenly felt very small. They looked at him with every ounce of their intense focus and he let them inspect him. “I am here, before you now, to ask a favor.” He said with conviction. His hands were shaking, palms sweating, and his entire body felt on display. His stomach turned under their gaze but he did not let it show on his face. “There is a threat to the line of Glæpur.”

Their gaze shifted behind him.

“Not the elves,” he said quickly. “The other of our kind.”

It shifted again.

He could feel their unhappiness, could tell they were muttering amongst themselves. “Would you like me to prove it?” he asked them. “Because I can.”

Glanni shooed all three elves behind himself, drawing up a shielding spell and waiting. The glow of pink cast on their faces made their eyes stand out, fear in their gazes. “This is my heir,” he addressed the Court. Robbie knew that the entire Court would be listening, not just the few who had arrived in the shadows, and he shivered as their gaze came back to him. “He is asking for protection from the Court, for the sake of keeping the bloodline alive.”

 _ **“Show us,”**_ the voices came as one, united in anger and annoyance.

Robbie swallowed, tried to bring saliva into his too-dry mouth, then nodded. “If we remove the numbered hero,” he walked over to the frozen scene. Agnar’s shoulder was the easiest to grab and he curled his fingers tightly around it. He was trembling, his entire body shaking by now. He hadn’t anticipated the number of eyes he would feel watching him. “The threat becomes active. We need your help in containing him, in stopping him.”

_**“We will. Show us.”** _

Robbie pulled as hard as he could, stumbling as he tried to keep the weight of two other people upright. At the very least, keep their heads from hitting the ground. 

It was like he had unleashed an explosion.

Events that had started over a decade before unfurled as they had always been meant to. Agnar blinked up at Robbie, their eyes unfocused, before they passed out, slumping the rest of the way to the ground. Ketill was passed out on top of them, his lips stained with blood. Íþróttaálfurinn’s healing spell took effect immediately and Ketill’s breathing eased. 

A lash of darkness reached from the cloud around Illur and knocked Robbie back. 

“You wretched _brat_ ,” came a snarling voice. “You stepped in at precisely the _wrong_ moment and now I will make you _pay for it!”_

The shadows of the Court let out a shriek as Robbie went skidding across the ground, his upper back slamming down from the force of the push. Tryggvi let out a small growl, leaning forward. Íþróttaálfurinn put a hand on his son’s shoulder, drawing him back. “Glanni?” he said softly. “Care to explain what they’re doing?”

“They’re considering Illur a threat,” Glanni’s voice was soft but it carried in the absolute silence. “Noble family of the Unseelie Court. Illur is a threat to the last Glæpurs, they are considering him as such.”

Illur’s face twisted angrily, his eyes going entirely black, and he screamed his hatred out. The cloud of black smoke surrounding him billowed out, seeming to reach for everyone. Robbie, still on the ground in front of him, winced back but held still. “I will _burn this world,_ ” Illur’s voice was nearly a subsonic rumble of noise, more of a growl than anything else. “I will see you _fall!_ ”

“Yeah?” Glanni smirked, wings twitching behind him, his hands glowing as he intensified the shield he was still holding around the three elves. “Good luck with that.”

The fae shadows, shrieking and screaming, writing and reaching for something to hold onto, swept forward like a tidal wave. Illur was too slow to move out of the way, falling under the weight of them. When the shadows cleared and the fae had returned to the edges of the clearing, he was gone. A faint stain remained of him, but it appeared that he had been unmade, torn apart with nothing left. With a wary glance at the shadows, Glanni let the shielding droop, finally dropping it completely when they didn’t rush forward. 

Sportacus immediately ran forward, dropping to his knees to curl his entire body around Robbie.

Both of them let out a deep breath, as if they’d been holding it for an age and could finally breathe again. Glowing eyes watched them from the shadows, studying each movement the elf made. “I’m alright,” Robbie muttered, hiding his face in his boyfriend’s shoulder. “I’m alright, I’m alright. Are you?”

“I am _fine_ ,” Sportacus laughed, tearing up as he curled even tighter around him. “I was worried about you!”

“I’m fine!” Robbie pulled back from him, pressing both hands to the sides of his face. “Let’s never have to go through this again. Just…This whole day. Week? Time period unknown. I would like for at least a week of nothing happening.”

“We still have something we need to focus on,” Glanni muttered at them. “The Court is still watching.”

 _ **“It is a debt already paid,”**_ came the voice again. _**“A vile betrayer we have been seeking for ages, disappeared out of our reach. The reason for the ends of many of the noble lines. He sought to end them all, to gain the power for his own.”**_ They paused and both Glæpurs shuddered at the silence that followed. _**“By rights, we cannot ask you to owe us anything. You have rid us of a problem, have ended the ending.”**_

A line of shadow separated out, wrapping around Robbie’s wrist. _**“You will come to us eventually,”**_ they hissed out. 

“I will,” Robbie nodded slowly. “But not today. If I don’t owe you, I’m not going anywhere today. How much more would I owe you if I ask you to take Illur’s enchantments with you?”

 _ **“Consider it done,”**_ came the response. _**“Part and parcel of taking him.”**_

The trees around them withered, bending and falling, until they hit the ground with numerous thuds. Slowly, as if the bark was being peeled back a layer at a time, they started to look human. Robbie’s breath caught in his throat as he watched, clinging to Tryggvi’s side. “Found them,” he said quietly, his eyes wide. “The missing citizens of Latibær. We found them.”

“The world is connected to the town again,” Glanni’s voice was shaky, as nervous as his grandson’s, and his wings were fluttering at his back. “I can actually feel it grabbing hold of the town. Connecting it back to the main...Stream of time.”

Almost as if it had been planned, Tryggvi’s bracer started shrilling out an alarm. All three of the elves winced, Íþróttaálfurinn reaching over to open the top of it and revealing a communicator. “Ah,” he said quietly. “Three’s design. Outdated now, but good enough to continue working even without maintenance. Hallo?” he addressed. “You are speaking with Hero Number One.” He glanced at his son, shrugging with a nervous grin on his face. “And Hero Number Ten.”

“Ingvar!” came the response. “And that means…Tryggvi!”

Another voice came over the line, the sound of someone being pushed out of the way. “Is Aðalbjörg there? Are you, all three, safe?”

“Even better,” Tryggvi spoke up. 

“Even better,” Íþróttaálfurinn echoed. “We’ve located and rescued Agnar. They’re alive. They are breathing, we have them safe. We can explain later, but there is something necessary right now.”

“Yes, sir!”

“I need you to collect the heroes, those not currently engaged in any missions or fights,” Íþróttaálfurinn swallowed. “Bring them to Latibær, I will send you the coordinates to travel to. Can you do this for me, Number Five? Two, you as well. I need the both of you to find the rest, we need help with cleaning up a small disaster. The missing people of Latibær have been found, we need to get them home.”

“We can do that,” Five’s voice assured him, her voice much happier sounding than it had been before. “We will be there within a few hours.”

She seemed to hand the line over to Two, her voice growing distant as she started contacting the other heroes. “Sir,” Two said quietly. “What of the original One?” his voice, despite the amount of joy from the announcement, was still somewhat somber. “Have you found him?”

“There are many-“

“He’s here somewhere,” Robbie sighed, leaning over to speak to Two. “There are about three hundred people here, we’ve found all of them. I can feel another source of Elven magic that isn’t one of the five currently sitting around me. Too tired, can’t tell the direction of it yet, but he’s somewhere nearby.”

“…Sir, who was that?”

“That,” Íþróttaálfurinn reached out, patting gently at the top of Robbie’s head as the fae smooshed his face against his boyfriend’s arm. “Would be Tryggvi’s mate. Based on your opinion of Glanni, I may have to ask you to stay away from him until you have taken a few deep breaths. Like I said, all will be explained eventually. And he is right,” Íþróttaálfurinn grinned again. “I can feel his power somewhere around here. It is simply a matter of finding him.”

Robbie muttered something else, flapping a hand vaguely in one direction before his entire body slumped and his breathing evened out.

Tryggvi smiled when Two sputtered for a moment. “If you treat him poorly,” he warned. “You will not like what happens.” He lifted up his arm, guiding Robbie’s head into his lap and resting his hand over his eyes to block out the sunlight that was suddenly present all around them. “I will not tolerate you treating him poorly,” he clarified.

“…Understood,” Two said after a few moments of silence.

“The heroes are prepared to leave at a minute’s notice,” Five’s voice chirped over the line again. “We only need your coordinates. The moment you send them, we will be on our way.”

Íþróttaálfurinn nodded, his blue eyes practically sparkling as he typed them into Tryggvi’s communicator. “They should be on their way to you now,” he said. “As fast as you can, please. Help is required and I do not know the health status of the people here.”

“Yes sir!” both of them said again, closing the line.

“There we go,” Íþróttaálfurinn leaned back on his heels, facing his son with an even brighter smile. “Well done, saving a small town.”

“I didn’t-“ Tryggvi made a soft noise of distress. “I did not do as much as I could have.”

“No, but your magic was what interrupted the repeating cycle. Your arrival was what made things change,” Íþróttaálfurinn leaned in again, pressing a quick kiss to his son’s forehead, holding him close. “You took the long way of it, but you saved an entire town when it seemed to have been impossible. Sometimes it is best to take the long way, untangle delicately rather than cut through the knot. My son,” he laughed, tearing up a little. “You have done so well.”

Aðalbjörg crouched down, hugging both her husband and her son to her, careful not to jostle the sleeping fae. “We are proud of you,” she whispered. “And although we feared we would not see you again, we are certain of your skills.” Her green eyes were brighter than they had been when she pulled back, her hand on Tryggvi’s chin. “We are so proud of you, Lítillblá.”

She smiled and reached over to pat the top of Robbie’s head, mimicking her husband. “We are proud of him, as well.”

“Of course you are,” Glanni’s voice came from across the clearing. All three of them turned to look, surprised when they saw what he had been doing. “My grandson is only ever going to amaze with his talents and the fact that he got the Unseelie Court to make a deal without taking the price out of him. And this,” he trudged over, hefting his burden somewhat gently to the ground. “Is the last of the missing Numbered. I hope. There’s not more of you gone missing, is there?” he made a face, his nose wrinkling. “I’m already too entrenched in this hero business, it’s going to ruin my reputation.”

“I think your reputation is safe,” Aðalbjörg muttered. 

“Well excuse me for worrying about it,” Glanni growled at her, sneering. “Too much time associated with you makes me look weird to those who care about such things and I do actually run a gang.”

Shaking her head, Aðalbjörg scoffed. “Your little group of trolls is nothing for us to be worried about.”

“Oh?” Glanni raised a hand, pink sparks shooting off of his fingers. “Want me to make it something to be worried about? My little group of trolls would be a lot more threatening if I wanted them to be, your only interactions with them have been when I told them to relax a little. Do you _really- !_ ” he made a noise somewhere between a whine and a screech as Robbie’s arm extended and his hand landed on his grandfather’s face.

“Please be quiet,” the younger fae muttered. “I’ve only got so much time to nap before people get here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh...How're y'all doing? I'm having a good day.
> 
> There is so much more coming  
> You might end up hating me.


	5. See This Through

Robbie was still sleeping when the rest of the Numbered arrived.

Sportacus held onto his boyfriend, half-asleep himself, and barely looked up when Number Seven walked up to him. She crouched down next to him, crossing her arms over her knees as she studied his face. “Hallo Lítillblá,” she said softly. She reached out to pat the top of his head, ruffling his hair until is poofed up around her hand. “How are you doing?”

“Better than him right now,” Sportacus smiled at her, a small amount of anxiety in his expression as she studied Robbie’s face. “He made a deal with the Unseelie Court, they decided he did not owe them anything. He is still…Exhausted.” He petted fondly at Robbie’s hair, his anxiety melting away and a real smile on his face. “It took a great amount of courage for him to do that,” he said quietly. “He used to be my villain.”

“Ah, I see,” Seven sat down all the way, looking at the neatly arranged rows of sleeping people. “Eight and One have been busy?”

“Sorting out the missing, laying them down so that they would not be injured.”

Seven nodded. “That sounds like them.” She paused, hesitating, then bowed her head slightly. “I must apologize for never coming to find you, Lítillblá. You went missing and we, all of us, were scared that the worst might have happened. You have been gone for…Years.”

“Fourteen,” Sportacus nodded. “To be exact.”

“Oh, good, so you do know,” Seven let out a sigh of relief, her entire body relaxing a little. “So who is your villain?”

“This,” Sportacus nudged at the gently pointed tip of Robbie’s ear. “Is Robbie Rotten. There is another name but I do not know if he wants everyone to know it. He lets me use it, though he is still getting used to responding to it again.” He saw her raise her eyebrows and he chuckled. “He hid from Glanni Glæpur by using the English version of his name. If Robbie was the subject of conversation, Glanni could hear it and never know because it sounded like it was about him.”

“…This is his _grandson._ ” Seven leaned back, blinking a couple of times. “Your mate is his _grandson_.”

Frowning, Sportacus nodded again. “Yes?”

“I…It astounds me, sometimes, how very much like your father you are. So very alike in his willingness to believe in the good of people, his ability to give second chances,” Seven laughed, covering her mouth. “Even in those you love.” She patted his head again, then stood up. “I must report in to him now. I will speak with you later.”

Sportacus looked confused but he waved as she walked away.

 

“Ingvar,” Seven greeted him as she walked up to him. “I do hate to say the obvious.”

Íþróttaálfurinn had the grace to blush, looking at where she had just walked from. He closed his eyes when he saw his son sitting in her wake. “So you’ve found out who his mate is.” He cracked an eye open. “Do not-“

“Our mother always did say you would have one _just like you._ ” She grinned, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Congratulations, little brother. Your son has found his mate and it is the grandson of your ex. There is something almost poetic in that.” Her grin turned a little evil and she leaned into him, hugging him tightly. “Litli bróðir,“ she said softly. Her tone had changed the moment she had hugged him. “I am sorry that we could not find this out faster. It is not your fault, you are not the one at fault for not knowing.”

“Dagrún,” he leaned into her, holding her tightly. “They are alive. Both of them. Tryggvi is well, but you just spoke with him,” he pulled back, meeting her eyes. “One and Nine. Both are alive and well. You are especially needed with Nine’s villain, however. He is…Possibly dying. I did my best but we both know it was never my best magic.”

Seven stepped away from him, falling back into a professional pose. “Lead me to him. If there is someone dying, I am the hero to call.”

Íþróttaálfurinn cleared his throat, wiped roughly at his eyes, then turned and gestured for her to follow. “He was the one we decided we could safely pull from the time bubble to ask for answers. We did, but then he was injured from what happened when the time bubble was put into place,” he glanced at her, their steps in time with each other. “I cast a healing spell to try and help, but when the bubble fell, we had to put him into stasis. We are unsure of whether the injuries being unhealed by my magic is due to the length of time he was held in the same exact moment or magical interference from the one attacking them.”

“You have done well,” Seven praised when she saw where they were heading. Aðalbjörg looked up and greeted both of them with a nod, her hands tangled in the plants that had sprouted around her. 

The plants she had created were wrapped around something, keeping it bundled and shielded. “He is sleeping,” Aðalbjörg said quietly when Seven kneeled down next to her, pushing her coppery curls back and knotting her hair around itself to form a loose bun. “Here,” she opened the swell of vines, revealing Ketill for Seven to see. “We’ve put his torso into stasis but left the rest for time to touch. He has already been timeless for over a decade, he does not need to be so any longer.”

“Well done,” Seven muttered, already leaning forward to check him. Her hands were glowing peach, almost the same color as her clothing. When she pressed her hands to Ketill’s chest, she winced. “He was injured by magic,” was the next sentence out of her mouth. “A concussive blast, likely knocked him back several yards, end over end…There’s bruising forming in his ankle from where it bent as he went flying. Internal bleeding, a couple of ribs are completely shattered.” Seven frowned, her eyebrows drawing down with worry. “If you had kept him out of stasis, he would be dead right now. Do me a favor,” she glanced at both of the other heroes. “Stand back.”

Eight and Íþróttaálfurinn retreated, giving Seven a wide berth.

Her power was like a match to a pool of gasoline. Seven’s hands flared, glowing for a moment before it exploded out of her and began churning the air around her. It was a heavy sensation, the feeling of someone wrapping you in a thick blanket and holding you tight. The brightness of it finally dimmed after several minutes and Seven sat back on her heels.

“He’ll live,” she called out, smiling at her new audience. 

All of the others had gathered around, watching intently. Íþróttaálfurinn smiled back, then turned to Two. “You wanted to find him,” he said quietly, leading the other elf away. Seven watched them go, her hands folded in her lap and her eyes sharp.

“You seem as if you suspect something,” Five stepped closer. “Is Two worrying you?”

“He demanded knowledge of One, before anything else,” Seven muttered. “I have to wonder if he only ever voted my brother in with the condition of it being temporary. For being One, I mean,” she met Five’s eyes. “Or if it is something far more innocent.”

“Two is hardly a paragon of innocence,” Five’s voice was dry as she snorted out a laugh. “But I suspect that his devotion to his One is a deep vein of loyalty.”

Seven sighed. “And possibly a denial of change.”

“Perhaps.”

They watched Ketill for a minute, both looking up when they saw a pair of black boots approach. “Ah,” Seven laughed. “Glæpur. I was wondering when you would show up.” She glanced at the rest of the heroes. “There is much to thank you for, this time.”

“That’s…Rare.” Glanni glanced at them as well, his hands twisted together nervously. “I don’t think that’s happened before.”

“You are normally the cause of the trouble,” Five shrugged. “This time, you are not. Tell me, should we get used to that?” she raised an eyebrow at him. “Or should we be prepared for you to go back to your old ways immediately?” she stood up, crossing her arms over her chest. Five was almost a foot shorter than Glanni, her small stature making a less-than-intimidating image. The ball of light crackling around her, however, was what made it a bad idea to cross her.

Glanni snorted, shaking his head. “My grandson has been found. There is something I must discuss with him and then there is an inheritance to decide upon and his place in the Court.”

“What, your _mostly human_ grandson-“

“He isn’t mostly human,” Glanni’s eyes flashed dark for a moment, his hands clenching. His wings were still out and they twitched behind his shoulders. “There is a difference between human and what he actually is.”

“Oh?” Five’s other eyebrow rose to join the first, an unimpressed look on her face. “And what is that? Because to me, it seems like you bred with a human and created a bloodline that shouldn’t be there. Your grandson is not presenting as fae, there are no wings present.” She laughed. “Unless he is an even better liar than _you_.”

“He isn’t,” Glanni laughed. “He really isn’t.”

“Then what is he?”

“He is my heir,” Glanni crossed his arms over his chest as well, mimicking her stance and standing his ground. “Einar Glæpur is born of both Courts. His grandmother was a Seelie, with me as an Unseelie. I shouldn’t have to explain why it didn’t work between us. Actually,” he drew in a sharp breath, almost snarling at her. “I shouldn’t have to explain, period. You do not need to know the history of my family.”

Five sighed. “I need to know the history of your family when it comes to breeding with humans. I am not going to let you steal a human child and call them your heir! Or maybe the Seelie woman you bred with was the reason you broke ties with-“

 _ **“You know nothing of what actually happened,**_ ” Glanni’s entire body was tensed to attack, his nails coming into claw-like points and his glamours dropping entirely. 

Seven rushed forward, putting a hand on his shoulder before turning back to Five. “Go speak with the others,” she ordered the other hero. “This conversation is done.” She turned back to Glanni, her eyes focused anywhere but his. No eye contact, not when the Unseelie Court Noble was angry. “You are alright, Glæpur. She is just angry and she sometimes gets irrational when you come into the picture. There was a time when she and my brother might have been something if she had gotten her way.”

Glanni felt like a stone under her hand, his entire body still tensed.

With a small sigh, Seven leaned in slowly, allowing him time to pull away before she hugged him tightly. “I still consider you family,” she said quietly. “Even after the two of you…” she sighed again, smiling when his hand came up to her shoulder in an awkward pat. “And now, my nephew is your grandson’s mate,” she pulled back. “I know you and your dramatics. Plan something to celebrate.”

With a small noise of upset, Glanni was herded towards his grandson.

 

xXx

 

Glanni wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

There were signs of healing all around him, signs of the destruction being cleared away, people being checked on and seen to and he wasn’t part of it. His grandson was still sleeping, residual fear likely having taken over and knocked him out once he was comfortable and felt safe. 

He remembered his first time talking to the courts and changed direction from where Dagrún had pushed him.

Einar deserved his rest.

Instead, Glanni headed for where he could see Nine sitting on their own, pressing careful hands into their side. Bandaging a wound until Dagrún could look at it, probably. Without even really knowing why, Glanni walked over to them, stopping a few feet back and tapping the ground with the toe of one of his boots.

Agnar looked up, exhausted and unafraid as they met Glanni’s eyes. “I owe you,” they said in thickly accented English. “A far bigger favor than any elf has ever owed a fae.”

“I’m not a hero here,” Glanni scoffed. “I just got tired of my grandson being in danger and-“

“It does not _matter_ that you are not a hero,” Agnar shook their head. “I owe you so much. I have thought of something I could do to repay you, if it would be acceptable. I am in connection with time. Ten is always physicality, presence in the world. Nine is Time. Eight is nature, plants and growth. Our powers can cross over,” they gestured to Tryggvi and Íþróttaálfurinn. “I know they help plants grow. But that is not the point. I am connected to time and I _owe you a favor_.” They shuddered. “I will have to pay it back when I am well again.”

“Do me a favor and don’t die!” Glanni waved his hands in the air. “You look about five seconds from falling over!”

Rolling their eyes, Agnar grumbled something and switched to Icelandic, trying to get their point across. _“I owe you a favor and I can pull apart timelines to correct things. I know you’ve lost someone. If a death is unjust and too early, something can be done about it.”_

Glanni reared back, his eyes flashing and then going dark. “Do not _ever,_ ” he snarled, baring his teeth with a hiss. “Taunt me about _that.”_

He stormed away, his heels jabbing holes in the ground as he went. One of the Numbered practically leapt out of the way, blinking at his retreating back. “…What just-“ he looked at Agnar, blinking a couple more times. “What did he say?”

“Ah,” Agnar winced. “I think it was more what I have said.”

“He is Glæpur the Elder,” the other hero said, his face screwed up as he turned back around to watch Glanni. “What cause does he have to be upset? You are one of our Numbered. We are the heroes, he has no rightful cause to be upset.”

“Three,” Agnar leveled a look at him. “He is a villain, he is not a murderer or a monster.” 

“And?” Three shrugged. “He is a Villain. Our current leader, our previous leader, and others of our ranks have had to deal with him. He is nothing but trouble.”

Agnar sighed, pressing their hands to their side again. “He has known loss,” they said softly. “I can feel it pouring off of him, as rain runs off a roof. Replaced by more in the second it is gone. His grief swallows him until he is all but drowning in it. It does not excuse,” they laughed a little, bitter and almost heartbroken sounding. “But it does explain.”

“He…What?” Three made a face, his hands gesturing uselessly for a second. 

“It is not my story to tell,” Agnar shook their head. “You would have to ask him, but I suppose he is too upset for that right now.”

 

xXx

 

When Robbie woke up, there were elves clustered all around him.

He jolted back, skidding on his knees across the ground until he was a decent, useful distance away from them. Defending himself or running could happen from here but he was also able to keep talking to them if necessary. Their eyes followed him and he tried to breathe, tried to remember to keep functioning, but it was hard. They were strangers, they were possibly a threat because of his grandfather, and they were so intently focused on him that he couldn’t stop the swell of fear.

“Ah,” said one of them, a male dressed in shades of pink and brown. “So you’re awake now.”

Robbie watched him for a moment, his hands curling into the grass, and then looked around. “Where is- “

“Einar!” Tryggvi came running out of nowhere, dropping to the ground in front of him and putting a fleshy wall in between him and the strangers. “You’re awake now,” he smiled, nudging their heads together, linking their hands. “These are the Numbered.”

“Yes, I’m awake,” Robbie looked around his boyfriend, watched the other elves watching them. “I don’t…”

“I am sorry,” Tryggvi leaned back, a flash of anger in his eyes. “I told them not to go _near you,_ ” he said in an obvious reprimand that made the others shrink back a little. “But I guess they did not listen. I had only left you alone for a minute, one of the others needed to tell me something and was insistent that I could not be told with your head in my lap.” He cupped a hand over his crystal. “It flashed when you woke up and saw them.”

He turned his head, eyeing the others. 

“Sorry,” one of them said, his head hanging with a little bit of shame. “He’s a Glæpur, there’s an instinct that goes with one of them being around.”

“Excuse me?” 

Everyone turned to see the new arrival and Robbie raised an eyebrow at her. She wore a copper color that matched her hair, the details of her outfit done in the same bronze that Íþróttaálfurinn wore. Her hair was long, loose curls, falling in a thick curtain to the middle of her back. She had a seven emblazoned on her chest, her crystal directly over her heart. 

She was also the angriest-looking elf he had ever seen.

“Just because he is a Glæpur?” she narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “He is not the other one, the one who has caused some troubles in the past, and you do not even know the whole story. We are supposed to be the Numbered Heroes,” she paused, drawing herself up to her full height. It was impressive. If Robbie stood up straight next to her, she would probably only be an inch or so shorter than him. Maybe two inches, at most. “If we judge someone on their relation, we would be…Truly wrong. Glæpur isn’t even the worst one we know and you’ve somehow decided his grandson deserves an unfair trial, here and now?”

“Dagrún,” one of them tried to speak up, only for her to cut him off with a sharp motion of her hand. 

“No,” she almost snarled the word out. “None of you know the full story. I do. There is much you do not know about my brother’s history with Glæpur. But you do not, _do not_ , attack or surround someone who has done nothing wrong.”

“He is listed as Tryggvi’s villain!”

“Oh?” Dagrún’s eyebrow went up into a perfect arch and Robbie decided that he liked her. She was the sort of person who had a limit to what they would put up with and she knew how to fight with words. “Not to be insulting to you, Robbie Rotten, but have any of you asked Nine what they thought of him? They keep mentioning worry over Robbie, the last they saw of him was him protecting the children of this town while they went off to fight the threat.”

The others stayed silent, having the grace to look ashamed at her scolding.

“Three,” she looked at one. “Go talk with One and Two, they asked for you. Four, go speak with my brother, he wanted your opinion on how to reconnect the missing with their homes.” She waited until they had gone off. “The rest of you just go. I need to speak with my nephew and his _mate,_ ” she practically growled the word out, an obvious reminder of the connection between the two. “Without an audience.”

Dagrún waited until they were all a fair distance away, then turned to Robbie and Tryggvi with a smile. “Now,” she said gently. “Are you two alright?”

“Yes,” Tryggvi turned to Robbie, a smile on his face. “This is my father’s sister.”

She held out a hand, smiling when Robbie took it and shook it cautiously. “You’ve already heard my name, but I am Dagrún. Number Seven. I have heard good things about you,” she cast a look at her nephew, her smile turning mischievous. “From a couple of sources.”

“No,” Tryggvi’s eyes were wide, his face pale.

“I mean,”

“ _No,_ ” he repeated.

“It is not every day one gets a letter from their nephew, asking how to- “ she dodged his hand trying to silence her words. “Romance his villain!”

Tryggvi went entirely still, burying his face in Robbie’s shoulder.

Dagrún laughed and Robbie knew they would get along. He leaned into Tryggvi, looking around them. “Who were the other two?” he asked her. “I mean…You called Three and Four out, but there were two others.”

“Five and Six,” Dagrún frowned, casting a glance over her shoulder. “They should not have surrounded you like that. They know better. They had been informed of you being the one leading the plan to save our missing and the missing people of your town. You are not the threat here, you are the one who figured out how to rid this place of the threat.”

“It wasn’t really anything special,” Robbie muttered, his shoulders coming up around his ears as his face turned bright red. 

With a gentle hand on the top of his head, Dagrún’s frown twisted into a smile and she shrugged. “If that is what you want to believe,” she said quietly. “You just solved the mystery of the missing town and you helped us find the three missing heroes. There are only ten of us, three of ours missing is a significant portion of us. Those who have been missing will be able to finally come home,” she gestured at the rows of sleeping people on the ground around them. “Those who were missed have been found and it is thanks to you.”

Robbie pulled his knees to his chest, steadfastly refusing to make eye contact with her. “Just…Don’t bring me up unless people ask directly.” He leaned into Tryggvi’s side. “I don’t want the attention.”

“Of course,” Dagrún reached out to cup her nephew’s cheek in her hand. “I think you can take him home now, Tryggvi. Let him get some rest out of sight of prying, accusatory eyes.” She raised her voice on her last words, projecting them towards the heroes who had been so willing to blame Robbie for things. “Lest we get those who might harm him unfairly.”

“Ah,” Tryggvi looked at Robbie, running a thumb over his cheek. “It is a good point she makes,” he said quietly.

Robbie nodded, leaning further into Tryggvi.

With a huff of laughter and a smile, Tryggvi slid his arm behind Robbie’s back and under his knees, picking him gently off the ground and getting to his feet. “Just contact me first, before you come looking for us. We are going to _his_ home, so the privacy is important. Make sure no one else arrives without us knowing, either.”

“I will,” she assured him.

 

xXx

 

Tryggvi stumbled when he got into Robbie’s house, the man himself nearly dropping to the floor.

Of course Glanni was inside. He had disappeared from the area of the damage, he had slipped away to be alone. Tryggvi remembered something about him yelling but had been distracted at the time. Robbie had been asleep, curled up in his lap and looking so small like he always did when his sleep was uneasy. If his boyfriend needed to sleep and be protected, then that was what he was going to focus on; Glanni had been just about the furthest thing from his mind.

“Oh,” Glanni said, looking at the both of them. 

His hands were curled up in his lap and he was sitting in a chair off to one side. He looked like he was almost afraid to touch anything. The jacket he had been wearing was still on Aðalbjörg’s ship, probably exactly where he had thrown it over the console. In the moment, he looked like a ridiculously thin man who was exhausted and had been his whole life.

Tryggvi felt his heart clench in his chest a little and the link between Robbie- _Einar_ -and his grandfather was almost too much. He could easily see how his boyfriend could have become like the elder fae.

“Afi,” Einar greeted him, stiff and Tryggvi could hear the worry in his voice, the stress that followed now that the danger had passed. “What are you doing here?” he paused, frowning, then shook his head. “I mean…”

“I can leave,” Glanni offered, just as awkwardly as his grandson. 

“It’s…Fine?” Einar’s frown grew deeper and he looked at Tryggvi. “Actually, I think I want to speak with him alone. If…If that’s alright. Just for a little bit. I just-“ he made a noise, strangled and confused and upset and Tryggvi wanted to soothe him and keep him safe for the rest of their lives. 

He nodded, brushing his thumb softly over Einar’s cheekbone. “It is okay,” he said, smiling. “You need to have a discussion with him. If you need me, just call for me. You do know how,” he nudged their foreheads together. “I am going to help the other Numbered with the townsfolk.” He glanced at Glanni, studying him for a moment. “If you do anything to him that hurts him, I will make sure you regret it.” He warned the fae.

“Understood,” Glanni waved him away. “I just want to talk to him.”

Tryggvi nodded, clasping hands with Einar. He let the contact drop, their fingers catching for a moment before they separated completely. 

Making his way back up the tube, Tryggvi headed first for his own ship.

 

“He seems good for you,” Glanni said quietly, once the hatch had closed.

Robbie looked at him, watched his entire body practically curl in on itself. “He is good,” he answered, grasping his own elbows and trying to remain calm. “So…How much did you look around before we got back here?”

“Not much,” the elder admitted. “I found something and I stopped looking.”

“Found-“ Robbie looked around, spotting the thing that was out of place almost immediately. It was a music box, Glanni had put it on the small table near the orange chair. “Oh. That. Just be careful when looking around in here, some of my inventions are…Unstable. At best. Dangerous, in some cases.”

“I remember this music box,” Glanni smiled wistfully, one of the rare moments of unguarded remembering. “It belonged to your mother.”

“I kept it with me,” Robbie shrugged one shoulder, looking at the wall behind his grandfather’s head. “Took it with me when I left home.” He reached out his hands for it, thumbing open the lid and watching the small dancer within twirl gracefully. “I named her Rottenella. One of my schemes for getting Tryggvi out of town before we were anything was bringing her to life and having her be in a competition for dancing. As far as I know, she loved it.” He snorted. “Bratty little one, I think you and her would have gotten along. In a way…She’s my daughter.”

“You brought her to life.” Glanni blinked a couple of times. “How?”

Robbie turned to look at one of the storage closets lining the walls, carefully hidden. “An invention of mine. Makes things bigger, brings dolls to life. Works well on cake.”

“…Would you be able to bring her back?”

“I suppose?” Robbie frowned, taking the music box from his grandfather. “After the dance competition, I turned her back into what she was supposed to be. I remembered that rule,” he met Glanni’s eyes for a moment, then shrugged and looked away. “You always did enforce that one.”

“Ah,” Glanni smiled. “Of the few rules I do follow, that is one of the most important. But this,” he gestured to the music box. “Did you do this with magic?”

“Somewhat,” Robbie flipped the lid open, listening to the music for a few seconds. “I sort of combined magic and my machines. I always do.” The little ballerina figure twirled in place, her hands above her head and her eyes closed.

Glanni watched as well, a small smile still on his face. “Your mother used to dance to this.” He said quietly. 

With a nervous swallowing of the sudden wave of sadness, Robbie nodded. “I remember the photos. You bought this for her because of the colors of it, decided that they suited her. I remember the photo of her holding it.” He let himself breathe for a moment before continuing. “That’s part of why I took it with me when I left. I couldn’t take the photos, it didn’t feel right.”

“But this was a part of her that didn’t also feel like a part of me,” Glanni snorted. “I can understand that.”

They sat together for a while, listening to the music box winding down. When it was silent, Glanni cleared his throat and looked at his grandson. “I was trying to protect you.” He said softly. “With how I treated you. It doesn’t make it right, but…I guess I figured if I made you too meek to leave, you wouldn’t…” he coughed into his hand, looking at Robbie for a moment. “I was afraid that you’d end up…The same.”

“What, engaged and pregnant?”

“Dead before I could get to you,” Glanni corrected. “Your mother was nineteen when she died. You were a year and a half old. She was too young when she got pregnant and then they did… _That_. To her. They-“ he shuddered, his eyes closing. “Your father’s family decided that killing her was the best option. I don’t know what happened to your father.”

Robbie stared at him, eyes wide as his jaw dropped open slightly.

“But she…I never wanted a daughter. That is part of why I broke up with someone. I didn’t want children, I thought they were a hassle and too much more trouble than they were worth and I had convinced myself to never have any.” Glanni made a weak motion with his hands, trying to convey a concept he had no words for. “And then she was born. Her mother didn’t want her, too much of my influence. Seelie and Unseelie do not like each other, not even when they have children together and I-“ he made a noise that could have been a laugh in a different situation. “Her mother left her with me and I held her and I just…”

He looked at Robbie, the music box, the floor. “I loved my daughter from the very first moment I held her. When she was murdered and her fiancé disappeared and I was left with you, it was something of the same.”

“You just went overboard trying to keep the same thing from happening to me,” Robbie frowned, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I…It makes sense, but you handled it so _badly_.”

“I never said I was the paragon of rationality,” Glanni defended himself weakly. “You don’t have to forgive me. If you want, I will leave you alone for the rest of your life. I have to train you in some things, the Court will eventually want you to be there, but aside from that, I can walk away. You must know these things and the laws of our Court are that we must teach our own. It’s how bloodlines survive.”

“…You can stay,” Robbie said cautiously. “But you need to act like a more rational person.”

“You’ve survived well into adulthood,” Glanni shrugged. “I think my instincts about it will be quiet now. You’ve made it to an age that…She never got to see. You’re an adult in your own right and you’ve got a mate and that’s the part that causes some complications but you’ve done well for yourself.”

“Tryggvi is good for me,” Robbie smiled. “And I hope you and I can get along. I missed having blood-related family.”

“I have as well,” Glanni still looked awkward and a little afraid. “Part of the problem on my end with you leaving was that you were the same age as when your mother was pregnant with you. Almost exactly. Nineteen when she passed and you were a year and a half old. You were born when she was seventeen and she was pregnant with you at sixteen and then you left home at sixteen and it was the biggest mistake I had ever made.”

Robbie stepped closer to him, patting awkwardly at his shoulder for a moment. “Gods above and below,” he muttered. “Is there someone who specializes in therapy for fae?”

Glanni laughed, cupping his hands over his eyes to try and keep himself from crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glanni is not having a good time.
> 
> Robbie is a little confused about how to react to that.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this chapter!


	6. And If I See You Around (A Ghost In My Town)

The children were going to be safe.

Agnar swallowed nervously, cupping a hand over their crystal as they ran from the park. They had left Robbie in charge of keeping the children safe and gathered to him. The children would be safe. Robbie may have been a minor villain, but it was the sort of villainy that was meant to keep the children entertained.

He would never hurt them.

Out of earshot of the humans, Agnar let their crystal go, hearing it shriek like it was in pain. The air felt wrong around them, too thick and hard to breathe in. Something was wrong in Latibær, that was certain, but they could not figure out what it was.

They closed their eyes, letting their crystal tell them.

Off to the right.

Someone was scared, alone and injured, and running. The danger was chasing them, tracking them down, and if it got too much closer, Latibær would be in danger as well.

They started running again, sending out a quiet hope that Robbie would be able to keep the children safe. His powers were inconsistent sometimes, he had complained one night. Agnar and Robbie had spent hours mapping out stars, Robbie insisting on teaching the children how to look at them and know their way around.

Agnar broke into a sprint and then a run, going as fast as they could towards the source of the danger.

The last thing they were expecting was for someone to shout their name and start dragging them in a different direction. The hand around their arm was oddly familiar and they hurried to reorient themself to the movement.

“No, please, Agnar, come _on!_ ” the voice of the person was familiar as well, as stressed and panicked as it was.

“…Ketill?!”

“Yes, good, introductions, you remember me, fantastic, LET’S DO THAT _LATER_!” Ketill’s eyes were wide as he pulled Agnar along, his face pale enough that it took a few seconds for Agnar to realize that his hand was streaked with blood, his nostrils rimmed with more. His hair was a mess, pulled down from the braids he had favored when Agnar had last seen him. “Agnar, I know we’re enemies, I’m your villain, I tried to kill you, but believe me when I say there is someone _worse than me_ currently heading _directly for us!”_

Ketill’s knuckles were bloodlessly white, clenched around Agnar’s arm, but it wasn’t with the intention of hurting the Numbered hero.

Looking past their villain, their once-upon-a-time friend, Agnar saw a cloud of black smoke billowing towards them. It rose above the houses, flaring out like it was going to attack all of them, before it shot forward and slammed into Ketill’s back. The villain went flying, end over end, his arm hitting the ground with an audible cracking noise. “Oh, look at this,” came a voice from within the smoke, halting in midair. What passed for a head turned to look at Agnar, sizing them up. “I meet one of those Numbered today,” a deep, sinister chuckle came from it. “And I see them as worth nothing.”

Agnar was barely able to brace themself as the smoke cloud smashed into them, sending them flying backward as well, landing next to Ketill.

The villain was curled around his arm, clutching it to his chest as he struggled to even sit up. “Agnar, I’m sorry,” he whispered, looking over his shoulder. “His name is Illur, I was trying to get him away from the majority of the city and I guess he just…”

“He is fae,” Agnar muttered, keeping an eye on Illur.

The smoke formed into a person-shape, dark eyes pinned on the hero and the villain. He was dark-haired, darker-eyed, and his skin was moonlight pale, almost glowing even in the daylight. “Hm,” he smirked at the two, running a hand through his hair. “You are correct.” The earth beneath them shuddered and shook, roots of magic reaching out in all directions. Illur’s eyes were glowing as well now, a terrifyingly vibrant silver, molten and murderous. “Shall we see how well these human people react to magic?”

With a labored breath, Agnar skidded across the ground, scooping Ketill into their arms and running.

“What are you _doing?!”_ Ketill hissed, their uninjured hand curling into Agnar’s shoulder. “You’re the hero, you’re supposed to be saving the people of this town! I’m your villain, I was just trying to act as a warning system for you!” he shook his head. “This isn’t how this is supposed to go, I came so that you could save them, not me!”

“I am a hero, a Numbered,” Agnar managed a laugh, ducking a strangling vine that was coming from the direction of Illur. “I am supposed to save everyone. Besides, a friend of mine is watching over the children of this town and you are injured. He is able to use magic to protect and defend-“

They skidded to a halt, adjusting Ketill so that he didn’t fall to the ground.

People were running out of their houses, freezing in their spots and going entirely too still. “I think this is what he meant,” Ketill whispered. “Their skin is turning into-“

“Into bark,” Agnar finished for him, their eyes wide as a woman they had talked to a week before started sprouting leaves from her head. “We need to call the other heroes. My bracer,” they took a deep breath, meeting Ketill’s eyes. “Press the top button, it’ll call the others in. I do not think I can do this on my own, you must help me. Like when we were children, Ketill. Do you remember wanting to be a Numbered?”

“Nostalgia won’t exactly change what I’ve done,” Ketill shook his head. “But I can do this now.”

He busied himself with it while Agnar started running again, weaving through and around the people turning into trees around them. “Good,” Agnar adjusting their grip, keeping Ketill from falling. “And I hate to bring you even further into this, but there is something I must do.”

“Will it stop him?”

“Yes, but-“

“No, Agnar,” Ketill met their eyes. “Will it stop him?”

“Yes, but I have time to leave you with my communicator and go after him myself!”

“Do you really?” Ketill looked over Agnar’s shoulder, shaking his head. “It looks like his curse is spreading. The town is turning into a forest. I don’t imagine there’s much time before it reaches the people you want to protect. Agnar,” he smiled, his eyes watery with tears he was fighting back. “I missed you, I did. There’s a chance that this communicator isn’t working, it keeps making noises like it didn’t send out the SOS. And you,” he looked down, shaking his head again. “I think you hit it on the ground when he tossed you. We don’t have time.”

“We do, I can-“

“What you can and need to do is stop him before he destroys Latibær. Even if it takes me out with you and him, I will be glad that he is stopped and that I can be with you again.” Ketill winced, a hand pressed to his chest. “I wish there was time to tell you things.”

Agnar looked up, spotting Illur lounging against a tree, and felt a wave of fear in their chest. “I do too, my old friend.”

They gathered magic in their hand and rushed forward, meeting Illur as he launched himself off of the tree towards them. The magics met and arced off of each other, flooding outward and settling in around the entire town.

 

xXx

 

The sensor said they were around somewhere.

The Numbered One, the hero, Brynjar, sighed and pressed his hands into his face. This was the worst recovery expedition ever. He could find neither hide nor hair of the one missing, the person who he sought to bring home once more. Agnar was one of their youngest heroes, the Numbered Nine, one of the most recently chosen for the duty. The only one younger was Ten, trained briefly by Nine to assure a good match with the others.

 His airship moved slowly through the sky, the propeller on the back moving with small noises that meant he needed to oil it when he landed. Latibær was a couple of miles ahead and down and the sensor on his ship was telling him that the missing Numbered Nine was down there somewhere.

The trees that ringed the town made him smile, however. It was not every day that humans cared enough for their environment as to plant forests.

The sensor went insane as he came to the edge of the forest and Brynjar went stiff with shock, shushing the frantic piece of magic tech. His smile turned into a frown and he adjusted his ship, heading down to land outside of the trees. The sails of his ship hung oddly limp once he was on the ground and Brynjar looked at them warily.

Something was wrong with the forest.

He took the sensor from his ship, holding it firmly in his hands as he climbed over the roots and the undergrowth. He would find Agnar, he would return home with the missing hero, and he would feel better about things. They had been missing for a few years and no one had mentioned anything to him until a few months ago.

Heroes often went off on years long trips so no one had thought it odd.

When questioned, Three had said something about receiving a damaged signal once upon a time, thought to be an error in the system. Brynjar could have kicked himself for not paying closer attention to the devices himself.

Each step was getting harder.

His eyes drooped, exhaustion suddenly pulling at him, begging him to close his eyes. The trees looked comfortable, all of a sudden, a good place to lie down and sleep. Brynjar fought it off, shaking himself to a more aware and awake state, his sensor still going off.

Something wrapped around his ankle and dragged him down, the sensor going off loudly in the echoing silence.

As he was dragged towards a waiting hollow tree, Brynjar had enough time to panic. “The sensor was set for tracking elven magic,” he gasped, his eyes wide as he tried to escape. “If their magic with time was corrupted, then-” he only got those words out before the tree was curling around him and sealing him in.

There were muffled sounds of fists pounding wood and then there was silence once more.

 

xXx

 

“Íþróttaálfurinn?” came a quiet voice.

Íþróttaálfurinn looked over his shoulder, spotting Two. He smiled at the other elf, waving at him with his unoccupied hand. The other was currently pressed against the missing Numbered One’s pulse, monitoring it carefully. “Hallo Sindri,” he greeted him. “Brynjar is well, if you were curious. Seven has me keeping an eye on him to see if there is anything going wrong or if he is waking up.”

Sindri sat down next to them, on Brynjar’s other side. “It has come to my attention…” he sighed, his shoulders crumpling as he stared at Brynjar. “I was yelled at by Seven and told to explain why I was so against you becoming Number One in the first place.”

Before Íþróttaálfurinn could speak, he held up a hand. “I did vote yes for you becoming our leader, this is true, but my disagreement with it was ages before the vote happened.”

“Then what is the reason for it?”

“He needed to come back,” Sindri kept his gaze pinned on Brynjar’s face, studying the still-healing scratch across his cheek and the bridge of his nose. “And when he did, he needed his title to still be there. If you took over, someone would replace you and then you would be in his spot and he still needed it. I admit it was…Stupid. And stubborn. And useless, because we always need a leader to keep us all connected.”

“We are not a People if we do not have traits that make us individual,” Íþróttaálfurinn smiled at him, looking up to watch his wife going from person to person and making sure they were waking and aware. Her short hair bounced in the wind that had immediately returned to the little town and started rushing away the dead leaves and the withered plants. He thought about where he would be if he had never met her. “Once he wakes, I would suggest you speak with him.”

“Me?” Sindri laughed. “Oh, but Íþróttaálfurinn, I am a coward.”

“You are a Hero!”

“But I am a coward,” Sindri put a hand over his heart. “I am a Hero, I serve my city, but when it comes to my own self, I am cowardice beyond measure given form. There is a reason I have kept this secret from him all this time, there is a reason it will remain so.”

Íþróttaálfurinn nearly laughed as he pulled his hand away from Brynjar’s neck, allowing himself a smile as he waved a hand towards Sindri. “Perhaps it may be prudent to speak with him now,” he gestured towards the bleary-but-aware eyes of the elf lying between them. “Because he is awake and I think he wishes to speak with you.”

Before either of them could speak, Íþróttaálfurinn stood up and jogged away, giggling the entire time.

 

“Ingvar,” was the first word he heard from his wife when he got within range of her.

Aðalbjörg had her hands on her hips, a frown on her lips but a fondness in her eyes. Her foot tapped against the ground, one eyebrow raised as she studied him. “I know,” Íþróttaálfurinn grinned sheepishly at her, his hands behind his back as he rocked on his feet. “But Sindri has spent the last three hundred years keeping his secret. Brynjar has spent over two hundred keeping his. Anyone who watched them knew what they felt for each other if they knew what to look for.”

“Says the one allowed access to Brynjar’s personal files.” Aðalbjörg sighed. “I know you mean well, but-“

“So, if they ended up holding each other close as a result of my meddling, is that alright?” Íþróttaálfurinn motioned for her to look where he was looking, smiling when she burst into laughter. “Am I forgiven for that?”

“No,” Aðalbjörg gave her husband a look. She crossed her arms over her chest, angling her head so that she was looking up at him with the same look she had used to nudge their son back into line as a toddler. “Let them deal with their emotions on their own, Ástin mín. I know you‘re excited, but they need to work it out on their own.“ She gestured towards Nine and Ketill, sitting several feet apart. The villain had his arms curled around himself, his lips moving as he spoke quietly to his hero. “If we let them figure it out on their own, they come to a conclusion on their own. It lets them speak freely.”

Íþróttaálfurinn sighed. “I am not so certain that they will find the answers for themselves,” he muttered. “An attempted murder is something that is hard to get past.”

“This is a truth,” Aðalbjörg stepped closer to him and took his hands in her own. “Another truth is what you will do about still loving Glanni.” She smiled at him, a little sadly, when he started and then she nodded. “I know you well, Ingvar. I know you love me and I know you have vowed to be with me,” she tapped his chest, where he wore his wedding ring on a chain under his armor. It was hard to wear it on his hands as a hero. Hers was worn in the same place. “But you still love him.”

“He is-”

“A different love, in some respects.” She looked into the distance, towards where Robbie and Sportacus had gone. “But no less passionate and long-lasting. Were it not for the fact that I know he and I would try to tear each other apart out of jealousy, I would suggest sharing.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I am considering it anyway. You love him, he loves you, I love you. We could make it work.”

His heart ached as he thought about it. “Could we?”

“If he can promise to be somewhat kinder,” Aðalbjörg met his gaze, pressing against him. “I can hold my tongue. We would have to work it out, find a schedule of some kind, but your heart halfway belongs to him, still. Even after it nearly shattered when he left you.”

Before he could answer that, she shook her head. “And his still belongs, nearly wholly, to _you._ Even if he tries to pretend it does not belong anywhere but in his own chest.”

“You always could see the truth of someone’s emotions,” Íþróttaálfurinn wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer, holding her in a tight hug. “Even when the way ahead is unclear for me, you have always been able to spot obstacles and figure out the best course around them.” He pulled back, cupping her cheek in his palm. “Could you honestly live with him being a part of my life in the way you are?”

Her eyes, bright and clear and the most brilliant green he had ever seen, sparkled as she looked at him. “Ingvar,” she stated quietly. “I could live with just about anything as long as you were happy.”

“But what of your own happiness?”

“My own happiness is satiated.” She answered after a moment. “It is fed by seeing our son thrive and fall into his own love. It is fed by seeing our friends returned to us. It is fed by seeing the hero I love at his happiest.” She reached up and lay her hand against his, covering it where it lay on her face. “And maybe one day, I will find someone to be with. An open relationship.” She pursed her lips for a moment. “We will try it for a year. If, at the end of that period, we cannot continue living with the arrangement, we will discuss what to do next.”

Íþróttaálfurinn studied her face for a while, blanking out the rest of the heroes. “But-”

“Ingvar, we got married when you were barely into what was officially considered your adulthood,” Aðalbjörg cut over him, putting a finger to his lips. “Arranged marriages are rarely kind in most regards, but we ended up well. With each other, perfectly picked out. I had dated two others before you, you had only ever been with him before me. Now, having produced a son, we should see if this is the absolute best way ahead.”

She laughed. “Perfect is not always the best thing. I love you, I do, but I need to see if we can be happier in some way that is not just us.”

When he didn’t say anything to her, she smiled again. “Besides. You owe it to yourself to see how things would have been with him if he had never balked at commitment. I heard, from a reputable source, that most of the break up between the two of you was based on his panic.”

“…He still wants me?”

Aðalbjörg looked at him again, crossing her arms once more and leaning back on one leg, her eyebrow raised. “Do you truly not see the way he watches you?”

“I…”

“He watches you as if you are the only thing in his world,” her eyes were soft. “With the exception of his grandson and his daughter, I believe you are the only one he has ever loved.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the list of things I had planned for this story: NOT THAT.
> 
> Eh, oh well. Glanni and Ithro and Aðalbjörg will make it work. Somehow. Despite Aðalbjörg and Glanni routinely wanting to strangle each other.
> 
> Spoiler Alert: They find common ground with her sense of humor and Glanni being a sarcastic little shit.

**Author's Note:**

> And we're back.
> 
> Did y'all miss me? I missed you guys. I hope you enjoy this part of the series as much as I enjoyed writing it.


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